In the Absence of Memory
by mikan
Summary: Set ten years after the end of the anime. Tohru is all grown up. The path her life takes is one nobody ever expected...
1. An End to Memory

**Author's Note: **This story is set ten years after the end of the anime. Of course, I don't make any claims on Fruits Basket. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.

* * *

|| **In the Absence of Memory **||  
by mikan

** Chapter One: An End to Memory**

She lay motionless in the bed, her eyes fully open and fixed on the whitewashed ceiling above her head. The cool white sheet was tucked neatly under her arms, stretched taut till the foot of the bed. A length of flexible plastic tubing followed the curve of her arm like a clear, glistening snake. The moonlight seeping in through the blinds lent an even greater pallor to her skin.

The man stood at the foot of the bed, studying her silently. After a few minutes, he moved to her side. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a slim penlight. With a flick of his finger, he turned it on and shone it into her eyes.

She failed to flinch. He stared into her eyes. Her pupils were widely dilated, their depths blank and vacuous. He switched the penlight off and dropped it back into his pocket. He turned her arm up and checked the needle that ran into her vein. With gentle firmness, his fingers smoothed the tape holding the needle in place. Her skin was icy.

Slowly, he lifted her arm and tucked it under the sheet. He reached over and slipped her other arm in, then drew the covers up to her chin. His hand lingered for a moment on her cheek.

"Come back to us, Tohru."

She had been that way for a****lmost a week now -- silent and still, her eyes always open, always glazed with the same blank dullness. Not speaking, not eating, not sleeping -- just lying there, as if caught in a paralysis of shock. They had found her crumpled in a corner of her room, her clothes filthy and her face streaked with dirt. But her eyes, even then, had been wide, staring at something beyond them, something only she could see.

_What are you seeing, Tohru? What happened to you?_

The door behind him slid open. He turned his head. Light burst into the darkened room from the glaring fluorescent bars that lined the ceiling of the hallway. A man stood in the doorway, his face in shadow. Hatori waited for him to close the door.

The man did. Then he paused, staring at the figure on the bed.

"Akito." Hatori's voice was completely devoid of surprise.

Akito crossed the room slowly. In the half light his face glowed starkly pale against the collar of his wool coat. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on her face. He said nothing.

Hatori watched him in silence. It was the first time Akito had come to visit her.

Suddenly Akito spoke.

"What are you waiting for, Hatori?" he asked quietly. "Don't you want to save her?"

As he listened to Akito's silky voice, Hatori felt an icy uneasiness slowly begin to creep around his heart. Akito suddenly turned and looked him in the eye.

"I thought you'd know what to do by now. Haven't we been through all this before? With that girl of yours, years ago?" Akito's eyes swept over the limp body lying on the bed. "Worthless," he muttered. "Completely, utterly worthless. It must be part of the curse to have ridiculously stubborn women wanting to join the family and save us all. Honda Tohru was no different from Kana." He paused. "Or was she? Let me ask you, Hatori. Was Kana sincere? Was she honest?"

Hatori stared at Akito's harsh, pale profile.

"I'm not sure I understand... " he murmured with polite blandness.

"I mean," Akito went on softly, "when she told you, _I want to be with you_, did she mean it... do you think."

It was the oddest question he had ever heard Akito utter, and it gave him pause. Hatori forced himself to clear through the turmoil in his mind and really _look_ at Akito. What he saw stunned him.

An undercurrent of emotion seemed to pulsate visibly under the stiff, hawklike cast of his face. His jaw was set, and his lips had thinned into a grim line. His eyes stood out starkly against the glowing paleness of his skin -- dark, shadowed, and hard. But brilliant all the same.

_With pain_, Hatori realized. Akito was struggling with a pain that he was barely managing to hide. Hatori suddenly noticed the rigidness of his body, and the clenched fingers half-hidden by the long sleeves of his coat.

"You can't ask me to do this, Akito," he finally said with quiet firmness. "You can't do this to her."

Akito's eyes flashed.

"_I can't ask you to do this_?" he echoed. "Well, you're right. I'm not asking. I'm _telling_ you. Do it. And I don't mean anything of the halfway sort, Hatori. I mean _everything. _Take away everything."

Hatori stared at him, his eyes shot with outrage.

"There is no way --"

"How dare you disobey me," Akito hissed.

"How dare you even _think_ of doing this to her! It's your fault she's like this!"

Akito stared at him in silence for a moment, then gave a short, brittle laugh. His hands slid smoothly back into the deep pockets of his coat.

"In all my life, Hatori, I would never have expected to hear you speak to me like this." He tilted his head slightly to the side, regarding Hatori's shadowed face thoughtfully. "Even when I hurt your eye, even when I almost tore that woman's hair out, you never said a word. And yet for _this_ woman, you manage to say such hurtful, ungrateful things." His voice dropped to a delicate whisper. "I won't waste any more time. I shouldn't need to tell you. If you don't do it, she'll die. And if that happens... I'll never forgive you."

The whisper hung in the silence. Akito turned away from the bed and began walking towards the door.

"Akito. To take away _everything_... "

"You're not taking away anything she hasn't thrown away already," Akito answered, pausing at the door. "She threw away everything the moment she came to me." His eyes found Hatori's in the darkness. "I have the car ready outside. I expect that you'll have her ready as soon as possible."

"Where are you taking her?" Hatori demanded.

"Didn't I already tell you? I asked you to have the villa aired out, didn't I?."

The door slid shut behind him, closing off the light and leaving the room cloaked once more in gray darkness. Hatori forced himself to take a deep breath. Then another. And another still, until he felt the roiling fury within him begin to calm. He uncurled his fist, his palm slick with sweat. His fingernails had dug in little red crescents on his flesh. He stared at the bed, and felt the pain return.

In the strange half-darkness, he could almost convince himself that the years had melted away, and that it was _her_ lying before him. She had lain in this same room, in that same bed. Her eyes had held the same emptiness, her body succumbing slowly to the same agony. The only difference was that she had wept unceasingly the whole time.

_I could do nothing for her_, he thought, the sadness returning keenly to him. _Nothing but take the painful memories away._

He remembered her face the last time he had seen her. She had smiled up at him, her eyes clear and happy and blissfully innocent. A smile free of pain. He kept the memory of that smile within his heart like a shard of glittering crystal, at once beautiful and piercing, reminding him that the most painful thing he had ever done was also the one thing that had guaranteed her happiness.

He drew close to Tohru's side.

_Once again, this..._

"I'm sorry, Tohru," he murmured. He smoothed the hair away from her forehead. "But soon... everything will be alright."

He passed his hand gently down over her unseeing eyes, closing them. As he felt it beginning, rushing through his veins and passing from his fingertips onto her soft skin, words echoed in his heart. The same words he had been unable to say to _her,_ years before:

_Try to remember... if only the happy times..._

Tohru's neck stiffened for a moment, her head arching backwards. And then it was over. He lifted his hands from her face. Her neck relaxed slowly, her head sinking into the softness of the pillow. Her cheek came to rest against the white linen.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a tree flying past the window. And on the glass in front of her face, she caught a faint outline of some reflection. Her eyes wandered over the soft leather that seemed to cover everything like a skin. The wide band of a seatbelt chafed against her cheek. She lifted her head and stared out the windshield.

_I'm in a car_, she realized, her eyes drawn to the asphalt that stretched on ahead. It appeared to be early morning. The sky was a sickly gray, a lingering trace of shadowy clouds marring the light of dawn. The sun was nowhere to be seen. A thin drizzle spattered against the windows.

She heard a click, and the windshield wipers immediately began moving over the glass. She turned her head.

A man sat in the driver's seat. She knew with absolute certainty that she had never seen him before.

She continued to stare. He paid her no heed, his eyes focused on the road. His face was half-hidden by his dark hair, which fell in careless locks against his cheek. He was clad completely in black, his pale skin stark against the line of his turtleneck. Past the heavy sleeves of his wool coat, long, slender fingers gripped the steering wheel.

Suddenly he shifted his gaze from the road and glanced at her for a moment. She froze. His eyes had a peculiar electrifying quality to them -- a glittering hardness that could be keenly felt. Suddenly she felt very cold.

"You're awake," he remarked. His voice sent shudders up her spine. It had a delicacy that nevertheless failed to hide an underlying harshness. It reminded her of silk being dragged over a rough mat.

Slowly, she began inching herself away from him.

"Don't lean on the door," he told her absently, momentarily eyeing a tiny flickering light on the dashboard. "You're making the side airbag light go on."

She jerked away from the door. In the silence, her heartbeat drowned out the sound of the wipers rubbing mechanically against the windshield. She looked down at her hands, and noticed for the first time the white strips of bandages stuck onto her skin. She moved a fingertip over one. A slight soreness sprang from her touch. Suddenly a row of dense trees shot up along the road. Again she caught the faint reflection in the window. She turned her head and stared.

She blinked at it. The features were vague against the rapidly shifting background of green, completely unfamiliar. The eyes, the arch of the brows, the mouth, the tilt of the nose. Long brown hair that touched her cheek in tangled locks. Pale, parched-looking skin.

It was a stranger's face, just as unknown to her as the face of the man beside her.

_Is this my face?_

Her face. How come she didn't know her own face? Her eyes moved wildly over the reflection on the glass. At that moment, the row of trees ended and a bright, washed-out sky filled her window. The face was lost.

"No." The protest came out as a ragged whisper. Her hand touched the cold glass.

"There's a mirror on your visor."

He had spoken again. She stared at him.

"What?" The same whisper, her anxiety lending a sharper edge to it.

Without another word, he reached out and flipped her visor downward. She crouched away from his arm. He returned his hand to the steering wheel.

She looked up. A small plastic lid was set into the plush padded leather of the visor. With unsteady fingers, she pushed the cover open and found herself staring into a tiny mirror. Slowly, she adjusted the angle of the visor until a face came into view.

It was a sharper image of the reflection she had seen. The eyes, she discovered, were a pale green. The face was young -- a bit haggard-looking, but definitely young. Suddenly she realized something.

"You know."

He kept his eyes on the road. "I know what?"

"You know what's wrong with me!" She faced him fully now, fear momentarily forgotten, replaced by a frantic desire to _know_. "What is it? What's going on?"

"You've been ill," he answered simply.

Ill. She stared down at the bandages on her hands.

"I _feel_ ill."

He said nothing.

She took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, but..." she began hesitantly, "I really don't think I know... who you are."

"Really."

His voice was perfectly calm. His hand swept the turn signal lever downwards. The ticking sound filled the silence. The car turned off the road onto another highway. In the distance she could see a cluster of tall buildings, cloaked in hazy smog.

"Who _are_ you?" she asked him. "Where are you taking me?"

"One question at a time." He steered the car smoothly out of the exit onto the highway. The lever snapped back up, and the ticking ceased. "I'm taking you home," he answered.

"Home?" she echoed.

He glanced at her.

"You really don't remember anything?"

His words shocked her completely.

"Wh-what do you mean... " she murmured faintly, her mind racing. _Remembering..._ Was that what was wrong with her? She couldn't remember anything? 

"Tell me your name," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Your name." Again he shifted his eyes to her for a moment. His lashes were uncommonly long, veiling his gaze. She felt as if he were watching her carefully, waiting to see something.

Her name. Incredulously, she realized that nothing came to her. Her mind drew a blank.

"My name," she repeated, commanding her mind to remember. "My name is... "

He waited. The silence stretched on.

"Nothing?" he inquired.

She stared at him, her eyes wide and terrified. With one look he could tell that she was on the verge of breaking.

Hatori had done what had been expected of him.

Akito felt a deep calm settle into his bones. He drove steadily towards the city. He could feel her eyes intent upon his face. With smooth grace, he lifted his hand from the steering wheel and touched her cheek. She stiffened.

He glanced at her.

"Your name is Tohru," he told her softly. "And you're my wife."


	2. Stopover

|| **In the Absence of Memory **||  
by mikan

**Chapter Two: Stopover**

They had driven into the city. She stared out the window at the tall buildings that towered above the street. _Where are we? _she wondered. _Is this where we live?_

The man who claimed to be her husband suddenly pulled off the road and drove into an underground parking garage at the base of a medium-sized office building. The car was suddenly bathed in a cool darkness. Bars of fluorescent lighting lined the edges of the bare concrete space.

"Where are we going?" she asked him anxiously.

He drove to a deserted end of the parking lot and stopped the car near a wall. Tohru looked around, her hearbeat accelerating. The mostly vacant lot had a cold, ominous air to it that frightened her.

He shut the engine off and pulled the trunk release. Then he reached over to her side and opened the glove compartment. She shrank away from him. He threw the keys inside and slammed the compartment shut. He looked at her.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

She blinked at him. Suddenly she became aware that under the long wool coat she had on, she was wearing only a hospital gown that ended right above her knees. On her feet were soft white bunny slippers. She pulled the coat tighter around herself and answered:

"I-I guess, but... I'm not really dressed."

"You're fine." He pushed his door open and got out. She stayed where she was.

He stared down at her.

"Do you plan to get out anytime soon?" he questioned in that same soft, chilling voice. She sat transfixed for a moment, then hastily turned to her door and pushed it open. He shut his door, walked around to the back of the car, and opened the trunk. The thud of luggage hitting the ground resounded in the empty parking lot. She extended her legs out of the car and pushed herself to her feet.

It was as if her legs weren't there. Her arms flailed out wildly, grasping at the door to stop her fall. They missed. She collapsed onto the ground, landing hard on her arm.

Akito glanced sharply at the passenger side. His eyes widened as he saw her flat on her stomach against the concrete, trying to push herself up. He dropped the duffel bag and rushed to her.

"What _happened?!_" he demanded harshly. "I asked you if you could walk!"

"I _thought_ I could walk!"

He grasped her by the arm and pulled her up roughly. "Will you _please_ be more careful next time?" he snapped. He held her securely by the elbow. "Can you stand now?"

She was leaning into him, fighting to keep her balance. The answer was evident. He sighed heavily and sat her back down on the seat.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" His eyes narrowed as he surveyed her from head to foot.

"No," she answered, looking away from him. _This man is my husband? _she asked herself incredulously. Suddenly she felt his fingers brush her chin. Her eyes shot back to him.

He was buttoning up her coat, his long slender fingers working deftly at the fastenings. He tugged at the wool, lining up the remaining buttons and slipping them into the holes. She stared at him. His face was very close to hers.

He looked up, and their eyes met. He gazed at her wordlessly for a moment, then straightened away.

"Stay here," he ordered. "I'm going to go get a taxi."

Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed the the white furry slippers peeking out from under the hem of her coat._ Her boots! _he remembered with irritation, striding back to where the luggage sat. He unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a pair of soft snow boots.

Seeing them, she held out her hand.

"I can do it by myself," she told him.

He paid her no attention. Dropping low on his heels, he reached for her leg and pulled the bunny slipper off by the ears. His hand was cold on her skin. She stiffened involuntarily at the contact. He slid her foot into the boot.

"Is it comfortable?" he asked her, stripping the slippers from her other foot.

She wiggled her toes. The boot was lined in soft fur, its outer shell an even softer suede. With some reluctance, she nodded, feeling a cozy warmth begin to envelop her feet.

"I must have guessed your size right, then," he murmured, finishing with the other boot. She pulled her legs into the car.

He collected the rabbit slippers and tossed them into the duffel bag. Opening the rear door, he threw the bags inside.

"Lock the doors," he told her, pushing them shut. He went back to the trunk and closed it.

Satisfied, he turned away from the car and began walking briskly towards the exit ramp.

* * *

Akito buttoned his coat hastily and flipped the wool collar up, shielding his neck from the frigid wind blowing in from the street. He dug into his pockets for his gloves and cursed under his breath, remembering that he had left them in the car. He emerged from the underground garage and walked up onto the sidewalk, his eyes scanning the street for a taxi.

None. He grit his teeth, feeling the cold starting to seep in. The noise of a busy intersection ahead drew his attention. He forced himself into a faster pace, heading towards the corner.

She would be fine in the garage for a little while. He much preferred leaving her there, locked in the car, than dropping her off at the apartment and having her sit there by herself while he returned to the garage. In her condition, anything could happen. And knowing her, something outrageously ridiculous probably would. Plus, the box had probably been delivered to the apartment already. And god only knew what else was being kept in that room. There was no way he could leave her alone there.

His breath materialized into little puffs of chilled air as he walked. God, he was tired. He had driven for seven hours straight, all the way from Tokyo to Sendai. No sleep, no food, and no rest the whole time, driving through the night well into the morning. The brightening daylight glared into his eyes, grating on his nerves.

The apartment building was a mere two blocks from the garage, but here he was, wasting time trying to find a goddamn taxi. He reached the corner and stopped, glancing up and down the street. Still none. Where the _hell_ were all the taxis in Sendai? He bit down on his impatience and shivered inside his coat.

If only she wasn't so weak, then they could have gone and walked the two blocks to the apartment, and by now he would be inside a nice heated room, within arm's reach of a futon. If only she hadn't fallen, he would have had no second thoughts about making her walk the distance, even if it meant holding her by the arm and hobbling the whole way. But no, she had to go ahead and stand when she really couldn't. Brainless twit. She had absolutely no sense whatsoever.

He stared back down the street, and spotted a taxi. He stepped off the curb and flagged it down.

It slowed to a halt before him. Akito jumped into the seat and directed the driver to the parking garage. The cab turned at the corner and headed for the building.

"The Sohma building, sir?"

"Yes."

They drove into the garage. Akito pointed at the far wall where he had parked his car.

"Park right next to it."

"Yes, sir."

He got out of the taxi and walked over to the passenger side of his car. She was still sitting there, obviously chilled. She stared at him through the fogged-up window, then flicked the lock up. He pulled both doors open. 

"Why did you have to get a taxi?" she asked. "Why can't we just drive home?"

He picked the bags up off the back seat, slinging one over his shoulder. "Because I have to return the car."

She frowned. "It's not yours?"

"I borrowed it." He walked over to the taxi and dumped the bags in the trunk. Then he went back for her.

"Get up," he said, holding out his hand. She stared dubiously at it.

"I'll fall -- "

"If you don't hold on," he cut in impatiently. "I can't carry you."

She took his hand. He hauled her upright with what felt like the last of his strength. He threw one of her arms across his shoulders, and wrapped his arm around her waist. He looked down at her.

At least she was managing to stay upright. He pulled her along hurriedly. He could feel the force in his arms draining away.

_I am so tired._

They shuffled together towards the waiting door of the taxi. He deposited her onto the seat. She scooted over to let him in. To her surprise, she saw him walking away.

"Hey -- " she started to call out, the words dying off abruptly as she realized she didn't know his name.

_My own husband, and I don't even know his name!_

She leaned forward and gripped the back of the driver's seat.

"E-Excuse me," she stammered. "Could you please run out and stop that man? Where is he going? He can't just leave me here -- "

The driver looked out the window, then turned to her with a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, ma'am. Looks like he just forgot something in the car."

"Oh." Tohru sank back slowly into the seat, staring out the window, trying unsuccessfully to see what he was doing.

Akito slid into the passenger seat of his car and opened the glove compartment. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. Credit cards and ID cards in various colors peeked out at him from their slots. He slid them all out and dumped them into the open compartment. He had cleaned out all his accounts the day before, and a considerable fraction was now sitting in a fat wad in the billfold of his wallet. The rest he had had transferred to an account in a small bank in a very out-of-the-way place.

And as for the IDs... it was a kind of death, really. A complete cessation of existence.

He emptied his wallet of everything except the cash, then closed up the glove compartment and got out of the car. He tapped the lock down and slammed both doors shut.

Tohru was waiting for him, watching him through the open taxi door. He stepped into the cab. The door shut automatically.

"Straight down the street for two blocks," he instructed the driver. "It's a white apartment building to the right."

"Yes, sir."

She was still watching him. He gave her a sidelong glance.

"We're almost home," he whispered, his lips curving into a smile.

* * *

Tohru hung on to his shoulder and gaped at the room before her.

"This is... home?" she mumbled.

Akito didn't answer, his eyes rapidly scanning the room. A low brown box near his feet caught his eye.

_There it is._

He dropped the bag he was holding, then let the duffel slide off his shoulder onto the floor. He kicked the bags out of the way and gripped her waist.

"Over to the wall," he told her curtly.

Tohru dragged her legs along, hanging onto him tightly. He brought her to the wall, then sat her down on the floor. He walked across the room and flung a closet open.

She looked around her, unable to believe that this was her home. The apartment was tiny. Off to one side was a small, dark kitchen. Next to it was a door -- probably the bathroom. The main living area was completely empty, except for the tatamis on the floor.

_Empty and dirty, _she thought.She touched the tatami and felt the dust, grainy and old, rub onto her fingers. She watched him pull out a futon from the closet.

"Um... are you sure that's clean?" she called out hesitantly.

"Of course it's clean," he answered, gathering up the bedding and depositing it right in front of her.

She hoped she was merely imagining the cloud of dust that seemed to billow from the futon.

"We haven't been home for a while, have we?" she remarked.

"I must have misled you," he said, unrolling the mattress. "We're not home yet."

She stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He did not. Instead, he finished laying out the futon. Then he went to her side, reached over, and began pulling off her boots.

"We're wearing shoes on the tatami," she reminded him.

"I don't think you'd want to go barefoot here, do you? The dust on the floor is an inch thick."

"Then why are we here?" she pressed, frustrated. "I thought we were going home. What _is_ this place?"

He held the blanket open for her. "Get in."

"I asked you something!"

His eyes narrowed.

"Let's not be difficult now, sweetheart," he said, his voice dropping to that menacing delicateness which was fast becoming familiar to her. "I'm very, very tired."

That soft voice had the unfailing power to paralyze her with a slow fear she could not understand._ How can he scare me like this? _she asked herself, her eyes still held to his. _He's my husband._

She averted her gaze and grasped at the futon. She pulled her body inside and reached for the blanket which he held.

"Aren't you going to unbutton your coat?" he asked her.

"I'm fine," she said abruptly, grabbing the blanket from him. She drew the covers all the way up to her chin and turned her back on him.

He sat there for a few more seconds, then she felt him get up and walk back across the room. A moment later, she heard the sound of cloth being dragged over the tatamis. A puff of air touched her neck. He was unrolling another futon right next to her.

"Will you at least tell me where we live?" she asked, half-expecting him not to answer.

He didn't._ I should have known,_ she muttered to herself. _What a disagreeable man. I wonder what the state of our marriage really is. Could I have been planning a divorce when I got sick?_

_Sick... what kind of sickness do I have, anyway? Why can't I remember anything? Not my face, or my name, or... anything! _She tried to think of something she should know -- birthday, hometown, family, anything. Everything came up as a blank.

_Stop, _she told herself forcefully, shutting her eyes tightly. She had been able to remain calm for most of the morning because she had forced herself not to think, not to pay attention to the alarming questions crowding her mind._ Everything will come back, _she reassured herself. _Just try not to think about it for now._

Akito straightened the sheets on his futon, his fingers lingering on the softness of the mattress. It was so tempting. He was so very tired. _But not yet,_ he told himself. There was still one more thing that needed to be taken care of.

He got up and headed to the foyer. The box sat waiting. He reached for it and pulled it up onto the tatami-covered floor.

The top was taped tightly. He glanced at the small label on the side.

_Sohma Akito-sama, _it read. No address.

There had been no need to put one. He stood and walked into the kitchen. He pulled a drawer open and found some knives. Grabbing one, he returned to where the box sat.

He sliced the top open and pushed the cardboard panels to the side. On a bed of curly styrofoam lay a neatly packaged array of small white plastic bottles. He counted them silently. _Good._ Exactly as ordered. He reached for the duffel bag and began stuffing the bottles into it, the pills making a jingly noise. He emptied the box and kicked it back into the corner. Picking up the duffel, he walked back into the room.

She still had her back to him. He opened the bag and took out an envelope, then went back into the kitchen and lifted the phone from its cradle in the wall. The plastic keypad clacked noisily in the silence as he punched in a number.

Lying quietly on her futon, Tohru waited for him to speak.

"Yes, I would like to request a shuttle for this evening," she heard him say after a few seconds. She listened as he gave the address. "Two people -- my wife and I," he answered after a pause. "Our flight is at eight-thirty. I will also be requiring a wheelchair."

_Flight? _Tohru thought. _We're going to fly tonight?_

"The name is Okishima," he informed the person on the phone. "Okishima Akito."

_Okishima. Akito._

His name was Akito. Her name was Okishima Tohru.

The names meant nothing to her, jogged nothing into remembrance.

"Thank you." He hung up. She heard him walk back inside.

"Aren't you asleep yet?" he asked her.

She took her time answering. "It's morning."

"We're flying home tonight. It's probably best that you try to get some sleep." She felt him sit down on the futon beside her. He kicked his shoes off and slipped inside the covers.

There was a deep, satisfied sigh.

"Where are we flying to?" she murmured, certain that he wouldn't even bother to answer.

"Okinawa," he replied.

Her head whipped around and she stared at him, for a minute disconcerted to discover that he was lying very close.

"We live in Okinawa?"

He closed his eyes. "Not exactly in Okinawa, but very near."

She continued to stare at him for a long time. Finally, Akito felt her settle back into the futon and turn her back to him once more. He let his limbs go dead, his body sinking into the soft feather mattress.

Tonight they would leave Sendai. He had driven all the way for the express purpose of picking up half a year's supply of medicine straight from the pharmaceutical plant they owned on the outskirts of the city. The apartment they were in now was owned by the Sohma subsidiary two blocks down the street, normally used for housing new hires. The box had been delivered without question, the drugs completely free of charge.

Sometimes it was very convenient to be a Sohma. But it was a convenience he was all too ready to abandon. Everything would end in Sendai.

He opened his eyes and gazed at the spill of her hair on the pillow.

The name would never touch her. That was why he had chosen to take the taxi; why he had had the box delivered; why he had locked the car up and cut off all traces of his identity. That was also why he had asked Hatori to take everything away.

Now she was completely his.

As he would be hers. From that night onwards, Sohma Akito would cease to exist. The name had been the curse of his life. He was determined that it would never, ever touch either of them again.

_No matter how hard they try, they'll never find us._

A smile twisted his lips as he closed his eyes.

But that night, before everything ended, he still had one more call to make.

* * *

Hatori slid the papers into a folder and reached across his desk for the stack of medical files. He placed the folder on top of the pile and bent down, pulling open a heavy bottom drawer. He was about to drop the pack of folders inside when the telephone rang.

He picked it up. "Yes?"

"Hatori," came the whispery voice from the other end.

Hatori froze.

"Akito!"

"You can pick the car up at the building in Sendai. It's a present from me."

"Where is Tohru?"

There was a soft laugh.

Hatori fought to keep his voice calm. "You need to come back, Akito," he said tersely. "You're due for another IV infusion in less than a week. If something happens to you -- "

"My, my," Akito clucked, "no need to get so worked up, Hatori! I have everything under control. By the way," he paused delicately, "if anybody asks, you are to tell them that I am taking Tohru to a place where she can recuperate fully."

"And where is that?"

"Where _indeed._" He sighed deeply. "Well -- I'll keep in touch... "

"Akito!"

The line went dead. Hatori stared at the phone.

Suddenly the door to the clinic slid open. Hatori looked behind him sharply.

Sohma Yuki walked in, still clad in his dark business suit, his overcoat folded over his arm. He was carrying a bouquet of tall, bright sunflowers.

He caught sight of the empty bed and stopped in his tracks. The sunflowers fell to the floor.

His eyes shot to Hatori's, alarmed and piercing. 

"_Where is she?!_"


	3. Morning

|| **In the Absence of Memory **||  
by mikan

**Chapter Three: Morning**

The room was bright and airy, the sliding doors on the balcony opening onto an uninterrupted view of the sea. Sitting up from her futon, Tohru stared past the slats of the railing, catching a glimpse of the water glistening blue green in the strong morning sunlight. The breeze blowing lightly into their bedroom lifted her tangled hair from her face. Shifting her gaze, she studied one by one the things around her that had been shadowed the night before.

In the revealing daylight, she was pleased to find that her surroundings were a complete opposite of the filthy apartment in Sendai. The tatamis on the floor were a crisp, fresh yellow-green, and the rice paper on the shoji glowed a warm ivory. The room was not that large, but the vastness of sky peeking in at the sliding door to her right dispelled any impression of crampedness. Her fingers stroked the softness of the blanket draped over her body. The sheets were newly washed, scented with the outdoor air and the sun.

_So this is our home._

She looked down at him, sleeping so peacefully beside her. He was on his side, in his own separate futon, but sometime in the night he had kicked the comforter into a tangle around his legs and had flung his arm carelessly onto her blanket. His head was turned towards her, away from the light. He had an arresting beauty in sleep -- his lashes dusky against his cheeks, his delicate mouth a hair's breadth parted, breath passing soundlessly through. His sleeping kimono had slipped off his shoulder, baring an expanse of white skin.

The persistence of the midmorning light soaked into his pale, blue-veined lids, awakening him. Slowly, his eyes opened, still drowsy with sleep. He stared at her, the beads of his pupils uncannily still and penetrating.

"You're awake," he murmured.

There was no hint of rancor in his voice, none of the brusque impatience which had laced his every word the day before. In fact, there seemed to be nothing in his raspy whisper but a lingering sleepiness. She averted her eyes from his gaze, her fingers curling into the blanket.

"It must be around ten in the morning already... you know," she said with hesitant familiarity.

He looked out the open sliding doors, squinting against the sunlight.

"Ten in the morning, huh? Ah, well... I was tired. The flight was bumpy."

She remembered the small twin-engine plane, its pitifully skinny hull unable to block out the terrifying hissing wind. Despite her fatigue, she had had enough energy to be acutely aware of fear. Past the cold glass of the windows, the water had stretched out underneath them like a great black mirror, ominous in its calm.

"It was quite a small plane," she said.

"We had no choice. The big airlines were all booked."

"Where did we go anyway -- before Sendai, I mean?" she asked suddenly. "Where were we driving from?"

Akito listened to the question, his eyes still on the palm tree waving past the veranda. Her asking did not bother him -- it was only natural, he told himself -- he could expect nothing less. She remembered nothing, possessed nothing to anchor her in reality except himself and whatever he chose to tell her. He was prepared, in any case, to placate her with neat explanations and conveniently vague answers. Nevertheless, there was a slight, disturbing feeling that he could not shrug off easily, much less identify. It lingered in the air, in the sound of her clear, innocent, questioning voice.

"You were sick," he answered, "so we were in Tokyo having you treated." He sat up slowly, reaching down and untangling the comforter from his legs. Feeling the breeze, he slid the collar of his robe back up over his bare shoulder and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He regarded her, his head tilting slightly.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. His voice was gentle, his eyes soft and solicitous.

Finding the absence of his previous moodiness somewhat heartening, she gave him a timid smile.

"Better, I think."

"Good. Shall we try standing up?"

He lifted the edge of his comforter and rose, his pale white hands collecting the folds of his long robe and wrapping them around his body. He extended one hand to her, palm up. She placed her hand in his. He helped her to her feet, his other hand catching hers as she stumbled upright. She found herself leaning into his chest, his slender, reed-like body steadying her, giving her balance.

He watched her carefully.

"Well? Can you manage by yourself?"

She felt him slowly letting go of her fingers. Curiously, the weakness which had afflicted her the day before now no longer weighed her legs down. She could feel her feet planted in the softness of the futon, her legs firmly upright. Suddenly she realized that she was already standing on her own, her fingers hovering in the space between them.

He pressed both corners of his lips outward, the line of his mouth curving slightly.

"Looks like you're fine," he noted with satisfaction.

His smile was not quite a smile, but it was nevertheless markedly different from the sardonic twisting lips she had seen the day before. She reached out and laid her fingers on his arm. He looked at her questioningly. She felt heat creep slowly up her cheeks.

"I, uh... " she began haltingly, "I think I'll be alright, it's just that... " She looked up at him and tried another hesitant smile. "Would you mind if I hold onto you like this? I feel..._safer _this way."

_How charming,_ he thought. From the light blush in her cheeks, to the shy smile, she presented a perfectly enchanting picture of unguarded innocence. He took her hand and linked it through his elbow.

"Of course I wouldn't," he answered easily. "Come, I'll take you on a tour. You didn't get to see much of the house last night, did you? We'll go out on the porch and have a look around."

She gathered the loose collar of her yukata around her neck. "Maybe I should change first... "

He eyed the thin silk. "Are you cold?" 

"No, just... not really dressed."

"My, aren't we modest," he murmured, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe. "There's no one here, you know. Just you and me and the ocean."

There was a knowing casualness in his gaze that reminded her he was intimately acquainted with the body under her robe. Suddenly the room seemed too small and he too close.

_He's your husband, _she told herself. _There's no reason to feel uneasy at all._

He observed the blush flame bright red across her face to the tips of her ears. He was anticipating the hesitant withdrawal of her fingers from his arm. The moment he felt it, he trapped her arm firmly with his elbow, pulling it closer against his side.

"Don't think too much," he admonished her quietly. "Now come on. I want you to see this place. This is a new house, you know. I picked it out as a surprise for you."

Together they walked out of the room. He led her onto the veranda.

Before them lay the ocean in all its serene glory. A stretch of white sand sloped down gently from the back of the house to the water. Palm trees swayed here and there, their topmost heights bunched with heavy clumps of coconut. She scanned the beach. To their left and right, houses peeked out from behind well-manicured hedges, separated by well-planned lot spacing and several judiciously situated trees. On the whole length of the shore, there was not a single person to be seen.

"So this isn't where we lived?" she asked.

"We used to live in Tokyo."

"Why did we move?"

"Because this place is so much better for your health."

She turned to him, her eyes worried.

"But it must be outrageously expensive!"

Akito looked at her with genuine amusement. "What, do you think we're renting?"

Her eyes widened. "Are we?"

He threw his head back and laughed. The sound was clear and light -- it seemed to her to be the sound of the sunlight glinting off the water. She watched him. The wind threaded its fingers through his hair, sweeping tousled dark locks across his forehead. His shoulder was pressed against hers as they both leaned on the railing. He shot her a sidelong glance, then stared out at the sea.

"Do you wonder why there's no one walking on the beach?"

"I _was_ starting to wonder," she admitted.

"Well," he turned back to her, his eyes suddenly gleaming, "that's because this is _our_ beach, you see. _Our _house. _Our _trees. From that rock you see over there... " he pointed to a boulder much diminished by distance, "to where that house is over there... everything in between is ours."

The expanse of sand he had delimited comprised nearly three-fourths of the whole landscape before them. She stared at him, astounded.

"You don't believe me," he said with a smile. He shook his head. "Tohru, Tohru. Still distrusting me, aren't you?"

Gently he disengaged his arm from hers and moved behind her. She went perfectly still. He braced his arms on either side of her and leaned closer till his lips almost touched her ear.

"This is all for you, you know," he whispered. "Aren't you even a little bit pleased?"

She turned her head quickly to look up at him, wanting to hastily reassure him that _of course_ she was pleased. More than pleased, in fact -- ecstatic, jubilant, _flabbergasted_ even. Just needing some time for everything to sink in, that was all.

Instead, the words dissipated from her mouth, sucked up in her sharp intake of breath.

His face was very, very close. His hair teased her cheek.

Her lips remained parted -- her whole body waiting, suspended, at once afraid and yet keenly anticipating...

He leaned forward a fraction, and touched his lips to hers -- just once, very lightly, a touch as light and tentative as the tips of the palm leaves dipping in the breeze. Before her mind could acknowledge what was happening, the moment had ended. Slowly, he withdrew his head.

She felt as if the breath were being dragged out of her, the breath and the sudden sweetness that had unfurled where their lips had met. She stared at him, her lips still slightly parted. Her voice was trapped in a throat gone tight. And her mind felt like sand scattered on the wind.

His arms drew her into an embrace. He spoke softly, his face near her ear, his body warming her back.

"We're pretty well off, you know. I came into an inheritance recently. It won't last forever, but at least we're off to a good start."

She looked out at the spectacular view that lay untouched and waiting before them.

"I can't believe... " she finally whispered, a catch in her voice, "all this... "

With a touch so gentle she barely noticed it, he tucked her hair behind her ear. He smoothed down the tresses tangled by the wind and answered:

"All this is for you. All I ask in return is that you do your best to get better."

The beauty surrounding her and the earnestness in his voice coalesced into a core of unbearable brightness in her chest. With an impulsiveness that to her, somehow felt right, she turned around and flung her arms about his neck, clinging to him tightly.

For once Akito was taken by surprise.

Tohru held onto him with a subtle desperation, her face pressed against his shoulder. The darkly brooding man she had awoken to in the car the day before now seemed like a distant mistaken impression. She closed her eyes and welcomed the warmth enfolding her. Suddenly, the void in her mind ceased to be terrifying -- ceased, in fact, to be a void. In its forbidding emptiness now surfaced his face, with those still, calm eyes that assured her everything would be alright.

_Even if he's all I have, all I know, it's alright._

She promised herself would regain everything. She would rake her mind, jolt it, force it into recollecting all that she had forgotten.

For his sake, she would try her hardest to remember everything.

* * *

Yuki checked his watch for the fourth time, and, also for the fourth time, redialed a number with painstaking deliberateness on his small cellular phone. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited.

He was staring out the train window so hard his gaze could have bored holes in the double-paned glass. He listened as the phone kept on ringing, his irritation mounting with each buzz. Gritting his teeth, he smashed the End button with his thumb and, for the fifth time, checked the number on the small slip of paper Hatori had given him.

He had dialed that number _exactly _four times already. _Where_ was Kyou?

Exhaling heavily, he glared at the keypad on his phone and punched in three numbers. There was a pause, then a deafening, badly-selected clip of classical music assaulted his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lady next to him shoot another irate glance his way. Normally he would have apologized. Instead, he turned his head to the window and waited.

The music was finally, mercifully cut short.

"Directory assistance!" a perky female voice answered.

"Yes," he said crisply, "could you give me the number for Sohma Kazuma's dojo, please?"

"What city, please?"

How was he supposed to know? All that idiot Kyou ever said was that it was "in the mountains" somewhere.

"Uh... somewhere near Sapporo... maybe?"

Keys clacked faintly in the background, then the woman responded, just as ebulliently as before:

"Our apologies for the wait! The number will be given shortly. Thank you for your call!"

Yuki steeled the muscles near his ear and hoped that he would be spared later ear damage. The mechanical computerized voice came on the line, pronouncing the number syllable by agonizing syllable. It was the same number he had dialed four times already! He waited for the offer of automatic connection. At the prompt, he hit the key impatiently and listened as the ringing began.

_Pick up... pick up..._

Suddenly the ringing was cut off and a polite voice answered:

"Good morning, Sohma dojo."

Yuki gripped the phone.

"Can I speak to Sohma Kyou, please? It's an emergency."

There was a pause.

"Speaking," said the voice, now a touch suspicious.

Yuki hastily continued:

"Kyou! I -- "

In a flash the once-polite voice turned gratingly hostile.

"What the _hell _do _you_ want? And how did you get this number anyway? I don't remember giving it to you!"

Yuki grit his teeth. It had been a while since they had spoken. He had forgotten just how difficult Kyou could be.

"Will you _please_ just listen?"

"_I'm _missing practice right now answering this damn phone! It's been ringing off the hook for the past five minutes! Ah..." Kyou paused as the realization struck him, "...so _that_ was you, wasn't it! Do you know what we're doing here? We're trying to meditate!"

"_Shut_ up_!_" Yuki hissed into the phone, superhumanly restraining himself from shouting. "_Listen_ to me. Tohru is missing!"

The stupefied silence that resulted on the other end gave him some satisfaction.

"What?" Kyou whispered, his voice suddenly faint.

"Akito kidnapped Tohru."

"I can't _hear_ you! Your shitty phone's crapping out on me! Hello? _Hello!_"

Yuki held the phone away from his head. Kyou was screaming into it like a madman. He took a deep breath and said into the phone, slowly and clearly:

"Akito took Tohru. We need you here now."

There was a pause. He checked the LCD screen and was relieved to discover the signal strength steadily climbing. He pressed the phone back against his ear.

"Kyou? _Hello,_ Kyou? Did you hear what I said?"

This time, the answer came through, firm and clear:

"I'll be there by tonight." The line clicked dead.

Yuki closed the flip phone and leaned back into his seat, acutely feeling the tension in his muscles. He closed his eyes, resting his temple against the square of white cotton covering the headrest of the seat. Fatigue throbbed underneath his lids. The subdued motion of the train was aggravating the migraine that was fiercely threatening to split his head in half. He plastered the back of his head against the headrest, wondering how the fatigue could fail to deaden the pain in his head.

He had had no sleep, having rushed straight to Sendai the night before. All through the night and into the morning, he had been led on a mad chase all over the city, doggedly following each clue as it turned up. Yet even after such exhausting effort, he found himself right back at the beginning, only with more questions this time.

A pile of cards stashed into the glove compartment of an abandoned car. An empty box of medication pre-ordered in bulk.

Beyond that, there was nothing. The trail went dead in Sendai.

What was Akito planning?

For the first time in his life, Yuki felt like wringing Hatori's neck. What had he been _thinking_ -- letting her be taken out of the clinic, and by _Akito,_ of all people! Of all people, _him._

_Tohru, my god, what is he doing to you? _Yuki thought miserably. _I'll be there, hang on. I'll find you._

Sohma Yuki sat, imprisoned by his own frustration, on the late morning Shinkansen to Tokyo. His head was pounding with all the _I have to_'s that pummeled his conscience, driving the searing guilt in deeper. He had planned to go see her that night. But unfinished work had kept him so late in the office that he had decided to postpone his visit till the next evening.

_If only I'd visited her. If only I'd gone._

_I have to find her. I have to call the police, call the bank, call the airport. I have to find her..._

_. . . **"He won't harm her."**_

Hatori's words suddenly cut into his thoughts. Yuki glared out the window, a vision of Hatori's calm, expressionless face surfacing against the tall grass that whizzed by.

_He had better be right about that._

But about the other thing...

_If he's right about the other thing, then god help us all._

* * *

She glanced at the plastic bags twirling in his hands as they walked quietly down the street. The thin pink bags were loaded with groceries, and due to their weight, the bulky bottoms had taken to spinning, causing the handles to dig into his palms. For the second time, she reached down and tried to pull a bag from his grasp.

He curled his fingers around the plastic and held the bags away from her.

"I told you, I'll carry them," he said.

"But they're so heavy!"

"Which is precisely why you can't carry them."

"Then let me carry the eggs," she said, reaching for the carton tucked under his arm.

He did not risk resisting, both of them keeping the welfare of the eggs in mind. She succeeded in extracting the tray from him, and with a satisfied smile, held it close to her body.

"So what's for dinner tonight?" she asked, looking up at him.

Akito would have liked an answer to that question himself. In his life, he had never, not once, gone near the kitchen, much less touched a ladle or switched on a stove. The thought of handling blood-drenched, uncooked meat sickened him. He had been careful to buy only vegetables and fruit, along with some rice he figured he could throw in the rice cooker.

_Maybe I shouldn't have told her I'd do all the cooking._

"I'll warn you, I don't have extensive experience in the kitchen," he muttered.

She arched a brow. "This from the man who so sternly forbids me to cook?"

"I don't want you to tire yourself out."

She shook her head and said with a sweet smile, "I don't want _you_ to burn our beautiful house down, darling. Just let me do the cooking. It's not that tiring, you know. And besides, what kind of wife would I be if I just lie around like a log all day long?"

He was staring at her with undisguised surprise. She continued on walking, the smile on her face tinged with the same shyness that had so charmed him earlier. Her words hung in his mind.

_Anata_. It was the first time she had ever called him that. It was the first time in his life he had ever heard an endearment addressed to him.

The silence was broken by a sudden cry.

"Hello there!"

Akito and Tohru both looked up to find a jolly-looking middle-aged couple waving to them from the front step of a house to their right.

Tohru responded with a ready smile.

"Good afternoon!" she greeted, bowing to them.

Akito inclined his head politely, his face impassive as he watched the couple walk down to their front gate, which opened onto the street.

"You're the new neighbors, aren't you?" the man went on, grinning jovially. "Forgive me for being so nosy, but I noticed your arrival last night. I'm Shibata Masao, and this is my wife Akemi."

The woman bowed, the smile on her face so expansive that her eyes nearly disappeared into her the folds of her cheeks.

"Won't you come in for tea?" she invited, gesturing for them to enter.

By the time Akito realized what was going on, Tohru had agreed and was already starting up the path. He managed a tight little smile, then stepped inside the gate and followed the two women, who were already engaged in animated conversation, to the front door.

The Shibatas, being in truth exiled Tokyoites, put great store into keeping up an indigenous appearance. They were both dressed in bright, garish floral print outfits, their faces and arms tanned a deep brown by the ever-present southern sun. Their house, fabulously large and modern as it was, looked and felt like a Polynesian tiki hut. The fake green vines hanging from the rafters, and the humongous silk hothouse flowers threaded into the rattan paneling constituted such an assault on Akito's refined sensibilities that he found himself incapable of speech for a few moments after his entry into the house. He sat down mutely next to Tohru on a ridiculously large, lime green floor cushion and wondered how long he would have to endure such distasteful surroundings.

Then the friendly -- in his opinion, apallingly nosy -- interrogation began. He answered for Tohru as much as he could, especially when the conversation took its inevitable turn into their background and their past. When he could no longer tolerate the inanity, he glanced at his watch and said with perfunctory regret:

"I'm afraid we've got to get going -- "

Mr. Shibata's eyebrows shot up incredulously.

"Going already? But we haven't even welcomed you properly!"

Akito clamped down on his jaw, hiding the strain on his face with another smile. "No, really, we've intruded enough -- "

"At least have some sake!" Shibata persisted, gesturing hastily to his wife. The woman scurried to her feet and rushed into the kitchen, returning an instant later with a trayful of clattering cups and a flask of sake.

Mr. Shibata expertly filled the cups and held them out. Then he lifted his in a toast to the young couple.

"To your new life here," he intoned graciously.

Tohru smiled wholeheartedly at him, raising her cup and bringing it to her lips.

Without warning, Akito plucked the cup out of her hand and placed it back on the table. The movement was swift and smooth, not a drop spilled.

Tohru gaped at him as if he had lost his mind. The Shibatas stared blankly at the cup, then at him.

With easy elegance, Akito picked up his own cup and lifted it, inclining his head slightly towards his hosts.

"Thank you," he murmured, taking a sip of the wine. He set the cup down carefully onto the table, then gave the dumbfounded couple an apologetic smile. "I do hope you'll forgive my rudeness and not take offense. My wife, you see, has quite a severe allergy to alcohol. Regrettably, the fact tends to slip her mind on occasion. I apologize for having neglected to mention this sooner."

After sufficient time had elapsed for them to digest the explanation, the Shibatas were instantly sympathetic.

"Oh no, the fault is ours!" the wife insisted hastily. "Poor dear! Oh well, alcohol really _is_ unhealthy, anyway! What it does to your liver and all that! You're much, much better off not touching a drop of the stuff! Here, how about another cup of tea... "

When he had finally succeeded in extricating the two of them from the Shibatas' clutches, Akito took a deep breath, ridiculously elated to be out in the open street. Walking on, he gazed off into the distance, fixing his eyes on the wrought iron gate of their house.

Tohru was suddenly too quiet. He glanced at her.

"They're interesting people," he remarked.

She nodded and said nothing.

He felt his patience being pricked.

"What is it now?" he asked, sighing. "What, you're really bothered that you can't drink, is that it? You happen to be a life-long non-drinker, you know. At least you were when I met you."

"I don't care about that."

Her tone was petulant, whiny to his ears.

"Well, _what_ is bothering you?" he snapped, irritated now, all pretense of patience gone. His feet hurt.He was tired. On top of that, the blasted shopping bags were gouging gashes into his palms. And she chose this time to turn pesky on him.

"_What_ is bothering me?" she echoed incredulously. "How can you even ask me that? Don't you already know? I don't remember _anything!_ Shouldn't that bother me?"

Akito took a long, hard look at her.

As irritated as he was, he could see that she was falling apart. He sighed.

Forcibly reining in his temper, he went quietly to her side.

"I'm sorry," he said, making no attempt to touch her. "But Tohru -- this isn't where we should be talking about this. Let's go home, okay? Let's go home and we'll talk about it."

His voice had dropped to a low, soothing, tone that, paired with his dark eyes, had a strange, hypnotic quality. She bowed her head and clutched the egg carton to her chest.

"Come on." He turned and began walking once more towards the house, aware that she lingered a few steps behind. When he finally reached the gate, he stopped and reached past the bars to unhook the latch.

"It's just that I've forgotten so much," came the quiet words from behind him.

He pushed the gate open, then looked at her.

"Don't you trust me, Tohru?" he asked her softly. "Don't you trust that I'd tell you anything you need to know?"

She stared back at him, her face pained. "I need to know _everything, _don't you see? I want to remember everything."

He was silent for a moment.

"Everything is too much at once," he finally answered. "But you're right -- there are some things that you need to know now."


	4. Disclosure

**In the Absence of Memory **  
by mikan

**Chapter Four: Disclosure**

He walked briskly up the path in the darkness, his feet judging unerringly where the wide flagstones were set into the ground. The frigid February air pricked his cheeks, making him glad that he had chosen not to lighten the usual ensemble he wore in Sapporo -- puffy down jacket, thermal-lined nylon pants, thick wool socks. He had felt like an idiot changing trains in Tokyo -- it had been unseasonably warm, the women around him wearing spring jackets and the men going about in their blazers. But here, in the wilderness where Shigure's house stood, winter was firmly entrenched.

The house came into view, a hulking shadow set off from the trees. Kyou frowned. The small lamp by the front door was off. Not a single window was lit.

_Somebody better be home,_ he thought grimly. _I told him I'd be here tonight._

Reaching the entrance, he stamped his feet on the rough brown mat, scraping off the clumpy, moist soil. Because it was winter, the glass sliding doors were shut over the shoji, fogging up from the heat inside. He dug his fingers into the aluminum frame and slid the door open.

The foyer was dark and cluttered with shoes. He shut the door and stood there for a moment, grateful for the blanketing warmth of the house. Dropping his bag, he began peeling his fleece gloves off, staring all the while at the assortment of footwear before him. Among the numerous house slippers, there were two pairs of sensible dress shoes, some gardening clogs, and a couple of colorful galoshes. In the corner, set apart in solitary glory, stood a pair of knee-high, fur-lined lace-up boots with an outrageous number of hooks.

_Whose are those? _he wondered.

The answer came to him readily. They had to belong to that paragon of bad taste, Ayame. Kyou stuffed his gloves into his pocket and, with impatient fingers, yanked down the zipper of his coat. He felt his ire beginning to rise.

If that just wasn't fabulous. It was hard enough having a normal conversation with that damn Yuki. Now, when there was serious business to be done, that freaky brother of his had to show up...

He kicked his sneakers off and stepped up onto the raised floor of the house. Voices came to him faintly from the living room. He walked straight to the closed shoji and flung it open.

Yuki was at the low table, writing down something, the phone at his ear. Next to him sat Ayame, a teacup at his fingers, the folds of his extravagant, fur-trimmed scarlet coat arranged around him on the floor. At the glass doors, looking out over the darkened yard, stood Hatori.

Ayame looked up.

"Ah, Kyonkichi!" he exclaimed. "You've come!"

Kyou glared at him.

"_Don't _call me that!"

Ayame smiled. "Sounds like you need some tea. How about some chamomile and mint to soothe those _adorable_ frazzled whiskers?"

Kyou grit his teeth.

"_You..._ " he bit out, "it's _so_ useless talking to you!"

Ayame's face took on a haughty cast at the affront.

"How typically rude," he said scornfully, raising the teacup to his lips and consoling himself with a sip.

Kyou turned his attention to Yuki, giving him a hard stare. Yuki ignored him, absorbed in the conversation he was having on the phone. He balanced the receiver on his shoulder and tilted his head into it.

"Yes, that's correct," he said. "They were last seen yesterday night, in Sendai."

"Sendai!" Kyou exclaimed.

"Yup," Ayame confirmed. "Akito's been extra-naughty this time. He took our poor Tohru all the way to Sendai."

"_Extra-naughty_ doesn't quite cover it," he informed Ayame coldly. _Just wait till I get my hands on that bastard. _"He kidnapped her!"

Ayame sighed.

"I guess you could call it that." He gazed down at the fur cuffs of his coat and stroked the fibers into one direction. "Although, you know, lately... Tohru's been acting quite unpredictably around Akito."

Kyou's brows knit. "What do you mean?"

Ayame finished sprucing up his cuffs. "Oh, that's right, I forgot," he said, looking up at Kyou. "You haven't been able to come down recently, have you? By the way, how is Kazuma?"

Kyou sombered a bit. "Shishou is fine. I've been making sure he gets enough rest."

"How wonderful of you." Ayame took another sip of his tea. "In any case, it's good you managed to come here."

"Of _course_ I managed! Tohru's missing, isn't she?"

Ayame glanced at Yuki sadly. "Yes... and Yuki's at his wits' end. My poor little brother."

Kyou clenched his fist.

"If only your _poor little brother_ was protecting her like he was supposed to, then none of this would have happened!"

Ayame put his teacup down. He gazed at Kyou, his golden eyes suddenly solid.

"Now, Kyou, talk like that isn't helpful at all."

At that moment, Yuki looked up. Kyou scowled at him.

Without any reaction, Yuki turned his attention back to the paper on the table. "It would be easier if you could please send somebody over," he said into the phone. "Explaining everything this way is quite difficult. I've already spoken to three different officers since I first called this morning, and none of them were fully apprised of all the details. It's a waste of time to have to keep repeating myself."

In the silence they could hear the apologetic tones of the person on the other end. At length, Yuki said: "Thank you. We'll be waiting." He hung up, then placed the phone on the table and looked at Kyou.

"You're here."

"Was that the police?"

"Yes. They're sending over a couple of detectives."

With a calm grace that Kyou found highly irritating, Ayame stood and said sweetly to Yuki, "I'll make more tea!"

Yuki watched his brother happily head into the kitchen. He caught Kyou rolling his eyes.

"Will you _please_ tell me what's going on?" Kyou said with exasperation. "I tried asking your brother but he's completely useless."

Yuki sighed, straightening his leg out tiredly.

"Akito came to the clinic two nights ago. He took Tohru and left."

Kyou frowned, bewildered.

"What do you mean, _he took Tohru and left? _I thought she was sick."

"She _is_ still sick," Yuki said evenly, shooting a narrowed glance at Hatori's back.

Kyou followed his eyes.

"I'd better hear a good reason," he called out to Hatori. "You mind explaining?"

After a moment, Hatori turned around. His whole body exuded a practiced calm -- his hand casually in his pocket, his expression bland.

"Akito took her," he said.

Kyou stared at him.

"Yes, we know," he snapped. "Because you _let_ him."

"There was nothing else to be done."

The dispassionate flatness of that reply caused Kyou's irritation to explode.

"You're not making any goddamn sense, do you know that?"

At that moment, Ayame floated back into the room, a tray in his hands.

"Ah-ah... looks like you need to drink some of this tea, Kyou."

"I don't want your damn tea, I want some answers!"

Ayame set the tray down with a deliberate _plunk_.

"Well, shut up and you'll get them," he hissed, the languid delicateness suddenly gone from his voice. He narrowed his eyes. "I understand you're worried, Kyou -- everyone is. But I won't have you attacking Tori-san like that just because you're ignorant of everything that's going on." Ayame pointed to the teapot. "Sit down. I'll pour you some tea."

Kyou glared back at Ayame. From his superior height, Ayame looked down at him coolly.

Kyou sank to the floor, shooting a malevolent glance at Hatori.

"Well?" he said testily. "I'm waiting."

"Come have some tea, Tori-san," Ayame beckoned, his voice much gentler. He set out four cups and began pouring.

Hatori walked over and sat down at the empty spot across from Ayame. He reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"May I?" he asked Yuki.

"Of course."

He slid a cigarette out and lit it. His eyes met Kyou's.

"The situation between Akito and Tohru isn't as you think it is." He took a long drag, then accepted the cup of tea that Ayame slid across the table. "Ever since she came back from America, Tohru's been acting... _differently_ around Akito."

"What do you mean, _differently?_" Kyou demanded. "Why was she allowed to be around Akito at all? Wasn't she told how dangerous he's become?"

"You think telling her would have made a difference? You were here that time when we all went to the Main House to see him. Whose idea was that?" Hatori glanced at the crumbling end of his cigarette. Out of nowhere, Ayame swiftly produced an ashtray.

Hatori tapped the cigarette against the crystal rim. "Tohru has always had her own way of being stubborn."

"Yeah, but we're talking about _Akito_ here, for god's sake! Why didn't any of you try to stop her?"

"Because we didn't know what she was doing," Yuki explained. "It was only later that we found out she was actually spending time with Akito."

"That was probably because _you_ weren't spending enough time with her!" Kyou retorted.

Yuki's eyes seemed suddenly pained.

"She didn't want to spend time with me," he said softly.

Kyou stared at him in disbelief. What the _hell_ was he talking about? Who did Tohru use to study with, garden with, go out and buy groceries with? Him! They had done everything together. If there was anybody that she preferred spending time with, it was _him_, damn him to hell.

"_What_ are you talking about?" Kyou leaned forward and jabbed his finger at Yuki. "_You're _the one she's always liked! When you went off to college, she was depressed for a _month!_ A month! Nothing I said or did could cheer her up! Why do you think she agreed to go off to America like that? Because she was miserable here without you! She even came back right after you finished school! Doesn't that tell you something? How the _hell_ could you have screwed all that up?"

"You don't understand," Hatori said flatly. "They've been apart for most of ten years. They've grown to be different people."

"So what?" Kyou said belligerently. "So you're telling me she dropped Yuki and ran straight to Akito, just like that? Even if she's changed, or matured, or _whatever,_ she couldn't have instantly started liking that freak! It's impossible! He's been horrible to her too!"

Ayame looked into his teacup thoughtfully.

"I think you're underestimating Akito a bit," he remarked. "He's a creature of innate, alluring grace. His aesthetic sensibilities far surpass mine. That elegance of his -- "

"What Ayame means," Hatori interrupted, "is that Akito can be charming and persuasive if he so chooses."

The implied consequence was clear. Kyou fell silent, a memory suddenly weighing down his heart.

_. . . **"I think Akito-san really wants to change the way he is, but he doesn't know how to be anything else..."**_

_She smiled at him._

_. . .__**I guess it's up to us, then, isn't it? To show him another way to live..."**_

Kyou closed his eyes briefly. The memory of that smile was suddenly a very painful thing.

He looked at Hatori.

"She was unconscious. He couldn't have _charmed_ her out of the clinic. He wouldn't have her now if it wasn't for you."

Hatori left his cigarette in the ashtray and took a sip of tea. Slowly, he set the cup down and curled his fingers around it.

"Akito and I had a deal," he said quietly.

Kyou locked his eyes onto Hatori's face. "What deal?"

"He promised to take responsibility for everything."

Kyou's eyes shifted from Hatori, to Yuki, to Ayame. Hatori sat brooding into his cup. Yuki's head was bowed. Ayame was gazing at Hatori with a solemn, sympathetic look in his eyes.

"_For everything?_" Kyou echoed, completely at a loss.

Hatori reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a well-worn square of paper. He tossed it onto the table.

Kyou stared at it. "What's that?"

"It's what you don't know."

Kyou snatched the paper and opened it up. It had been folded and unfolded many times, the ink at the creases already flaking off. He frowned at the long columns of numbers and abbreviations.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"Those are the results of Tohru's blood test. I ordered one done shortly after she was brought into the clinic."

The numbers meant nothing to Kyou. "So?"

"According to those results, she's pregnant."

There was a long silence.

Kyou thought he hadn't heard right. "You didn't just say that."

Hatori's face was a mask of imperturbable conviction.

"That's what the results say."

"That's impossible!"

Hatori's brow lifted slightly. "Why?"

"Because it has to be!" Kyou sputtered. "It can't be true!"

"It can very well be true and it probably is. Tohru is a woman of childbearing age."

Kyou shoved the paper away hatefully.

"I don't care what that shit says! She's not like that! She wouldn't... " His eyes suddenly widened, his gaze swinging to Yuki, hard and accusing. "It's yours, isn't it?" he snarled vehemently. "You touched her, didn't you, you dirty bastard!"

Yuki's face was dead serious. "I never touched her."

"Don't you dare lie about this!"

"I said I never touched her!"

"It's Akito's child," Hatori cut in bluntly. "He claimed responsibility."

A silence fell over the small gathering. Kyou stared at Hatori, struck dumb with horror.

Hatori picked up his cigarette and absently tapped the ash off.

"Yuki," he said suddenly.

Yuki looked up at him.

"When the detectives come, you must make it clear to them that this case involves special circumstances. Specifically," Hatori said, crushing his cigarette, "Akito must not be taken away from Tohru when they are discovered."

"Why?"

Hatori took the lab results, folded the paper, and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Because the blow to her mind would be too great," he replied. He looked up at them. "At the moment, Tohru's reality is built solely on Akito's existence. I erased her memory completely."

There was a stunned, frozen silence. Yuki's delicate face went ghastly pale.

"_Completely..._ "

"Tori-san... " Ayame murmured, his eyes intense, "how could you do such a thing?"

Hatori took a deep, heavy breath. He stared at the twisted remains of his cigarette.

"Something has happened to Akito," he answered quietly. "And... although I might be wrong, I think it's the beginning of what we've all been waiting for." He hesitated. "But... "

Ayame touched his arm. "But?"

"I don't think there's much time."

* * *

The corridors of the Japanese Department at Columbia University hardly betrayed their newly-renovated state. The floor was dark hardwood, a narrow, antique-looking rug running the length of the hallway and protecting the mahogany underneath. On the doors, faculty members' names were displayed on burnished brass plates. Everything, even the copper-colored doorknobs, bespoke an old, elegant comfort. 

One particularly giggly group of undergraduates was presently engaged in a search for a certain brass plate. Their footsteps were dulled by the rug on the floor, but their chatter nevertheless permeated the stuffy silence.

"Oh, you'll be _sooo_ glad you went to office hours!" one of the girls squealed. "He's _sooo_ cool! And he's _such _a hottie!"

"Oh god, I _know! _I bumped into him the other day in the hallway, and he actually _smiled_ at me! Can you believe? I almost died right there!"

"Isn't he simply _devastating? _Especially when he wears those glasses!"

One of the girls abruptly skidded to a halt as a nameplate caught her eye.

"Oh, this is it! This is it, girls!"

They all stared up in awe at the name engraved on the polished brass:

_Shigure Sohma  
Professor of Japanese Literature_

Suddenly the door opened, and the girls found themselves face to face with the man himself.

From behind his glasses, Shigure looked down at the bevy of sweet young females clustered before his door. He smiled.

A collective sigh escaped into the hush of the hallway.

"I was wondering where that charming giggling was coming from," he said, leaning his body against the doorframe and crossing his arms.

The girls giggled.

"Good morning, Shi-chan!" they chorused.

"Good morning, ladies. Oh, you're all so unspeakably lovely to look at! What a wonderful way to start the day!"

The girls were reduced to giggles yet again.

"Well," Shigure said, counting the heads that whispered and half-hid blushingly from him, "how many diligent students do I have here today? Ten, eleven, twelve. _Twelve_ of you!" He sighed. "With deep regret, ladies, I must apologize... we can't all fit in my office. No matter how accommodating I want to be towards my students, alas! the department only grants me two chairs for visitors."

"Oh, we'll sit on the floor, Shi-chan!" came the hasty reply.

"Yes, really, we don't mind!"

Shigure cast his eyes downward, heaving another regret-laden sigh. He caught sight of his students' shockingly short hemlines and shapely stockinged legs. He closed his eyes momentarily in gratitude to the blessed souls who had thought to invent short flannel skirts and hose.

"The mere sight of you... makes a spring burst in this wintry heart," he murmured. His tone had dropped to an intimate softness, his lashes half-veiling his eyes.

"Ooooh," the girls purred adoringly. Their adulations came in quick succession:

"Shi-chan, that line's fantastic!"

"_Sooo_ romantic!"

" Did you just make it up on the spot?"

"Ah... er, actually... " he grinned, "that's a quote from the passage I assigned at the last lecture."

They stared at him blankly.

"Ah so... " he wagged a finger at them, "you girls didn't read again, huh?"

They pouted.

"But it's so hard, Shi-chan!"

"Yeah, I mean, the _vocab! _I was totally lost!"

"That's why we came today -- for help!"

"Yes, you've got to help us! We won't leave till you do!"

He held up his hands.

"How can I possibly refuse such charming, dedicated students? We'll work our way through the passage so you ladies can outshine everyone else in class today. But first," he said, waving the sheaf of papers in his hand, "I have to go make some copies. So why don't you all come with me and I'll bring you to the lounge, where you can make yourselves comfortable while I take care of this really quick?"

"Oh, would you like us to make the copies for you?"

"Yes, Shi-chan, we really wouldn't mind!"

He shook his head, smiling at them.

"This is your quiz for this week," he informed them sweetly. He pushed away from the doorframe. "Well... shall we go? Someone else might take the lounge."

The girls stared up at him expectantly, still blocking the doorway.

He tilted his head. "May I pass?"

"Oh, sorry, Shi-chan!" The girls stepped away from the door.

Careful not to brush against any of them, he walked into the hallway, and held up a finger.

"Now remember, ladies... no crowding!"

They all nodded and formed a neat procession behind him. He led them down the hallway.

"Will you show us the quiz, Shi-chan?" a voice piped up. "Just us? We won't tell anyone else!"

"Oh, I wish I could... " he said, his tone heavy with regret, "but unfortunately... "

"Oh, but you'll give us hints, right?"

He reached the lounge and pulled the door open.

"Well, here we are!" he said exuberantly. "Make yourselves at home." He held the door open until the last girl entered, then he stuck his head into the room and said with a wink, "I'll be back in a second."

Another sigh followed him as he walked back down the hallway and headed towards the copy room at the other end of the wing. He stared at his watch. Office hours would probably go overtime today. That meant he would be late to his lunch meeting by about fifteen minutes, since he'd have to catch a cab to the other side of town...

As he passed his office, he suddenly noticed that he had left his door open. He broke his stride and reached for the doorknob.

At that moment, the phone on his desk rang.

He sighed, and walked inside. He tossed the sheaf of papers onto his blotter and picked up the phone, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Yes," he answered, his voice a touch weary.

"Shigure."

He straightened, his mind instantly alert. He took his glasses off and dropped them carelessly on the desk.

"Ha-san." Before Hatori could reply, he asked abruptly, "How is Tohru?"

There was a pause. Shigure felt his heartbeat stall.

"She's missing, Shigure," came the answer. "Akito took her... "

He stopped breathing at that point, his eyes falling to the cluttered space of his desk, searching out the one thing that he needed to see, the one thing he needed to look at...

_Tohru._

He fixed his gaze on the picture, making vivid in his mind her face... happy and smiling as it had been that day, her hair streaming in the breeze, her eyes gleaming the same blue as the sea that stretched behind her.

_. . .**"If I make you a necklace of seashells, will you wear it?"**_

Her voice, light and laughing, came echoing back at him.

He stared at her face as he heard out the rest of what Hatori had to say. He listened to the words, their meaning not really reaching him, his mind suddenly murky, a frightening emptiness in his chest.

"Shigure?"

Hatori's voice reminded him he was being asked a question.

"Yes," he managed to say. "I'll be there... as soon as I can."

He pressed the button, hanging up on Hatori without even saying goodbye. Holding the phone limply in his hand, he turned to the window and looked out at the chaos of the city around him.

_Tohru..._

At that moment, the fear suddenly became keen, hitting him with all its terrible force.

A vision of Akito flashed in his mind -- a face stark in its cruelty, a body deceptive in its delicateness. Enfolded in that body he saw Tohru -- her face beautiful and young and trusting.

Shigure closed his eyes, finding himself immersed in fear so paralyzing that he found it difficult even to breathe.

In the depths of his anguish, her face began to fade away.

_Tohru..._

_I should have never let you go._


	5. Prelude

|| **In the Absence of Memory **||  
by mikan

**Chapter Five: Prelude**

A faint draft seeped in at the edge of the steel window frame. Resting the side of his head against the cold glass, he looked down at the street below.

It was probably dangerous, what he was doing -- leaning against the window like that. The single pane of glass stretched from floor to ceiling -- unbroken, unsupported -- across half the width of the room. Twenty-six floors below him, the chaos of Tokyo traffic pulsed distantly in the street.

_... Why am I here?_

Small droplets of rain began to spatter against the glass. He watched them bead and slide away. The weak glow of the winter sun barely touched the darkness around him. He turned away from the window and walked back slowly to his desk. His computer hummed lightly in the silence, the IMF logo bouncing cheerily across the screen. Pulling his chair out, he jabbed at the button on the monitor. The screen blinked into darkness.

He sank into the seat and sat there, perfectly still, feeling the shadows settling onto him. It was the same shadow, the same heavy grayness that hung in the corners and hovered under the unlit ceiling. He had turned off all the lights hours ago. He looked down at his desk. A folder sat squarely in the center of his blotter.

He had work to do. It was probably time to turn the lights back on.

Yet he remained where he was, cloaked in that shadow, in that perfect silence which surrounded him. For the first time in his life, he found the darkness strangely comforting. It had its own warmth -- an insulating protectiveness which kept everything at a distance. Sitting there, nothing touched him, nothing was near. He felt almost at peace -- his senses numbed, his mind mercifully blank.

His eyes were drawn to the folder again.

There was simply no way to avoid it. He needed to get it done.

Leaning forward, he flipped the cover open. A memo slid out onto his desk. For the second time, he scanned the brief message.

_Dr. Sohma,_ it read,

_Please find enclosed the data which we have compiled for your analysis. We would appreciate it if you could send us your recommendations within the next week. Also, please be advised that the Committee requires a draft of your presentation to be submitted before the end of the month._

From there followed page upon page of tables and graphs, loaded with statistics on the current economic situation of every country in East Asia. Wearily, he stared at the numbers populating the first page.

_I can't do this. Not right now._

But he had to. He looked at the memo again.

It was addressed to Dr. Yuki Sohma, senior economist. It had been sent, along with the folder, straight from the headquarters of the International Monetary Fund in Washington, D.C.

Two weeks. That was all the time he had to produce an analysis solid enough to be presented to the Committee, which was going to assemble in Washington the following month for another summit on global economic development. It would have been fine if they had just asked for his recommendations to be submitted. Unfortunately, they expected him to _present. _That meant delivering his recommendations, addressing the Committee, answering questions. It also meant a week-long stay in Washington which he could not afford to make.

Not at the moment. Not with the way things were. 

He leaned back into the seat and gazed blankly at the folder before him. Washington. He was expected to be in Washington in a few weeks, ready to address an assembly of experts and world leaders...

_I can't leave her._

He cradled his head in his hands, closing his eyes tightly and blocking out the frightening images which had been haunting him for nights now.

"Tohru," he whispered, holding the memory of her face in his mind._ Why is this happening to us? Where did I go wrong?_

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Before he could answer, it opened. The light from the hallway glared into his eyes.

A figure began bowing apologetically at the threshold.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Sohma, I know you said you weren't to be interrupted, but... please forgive me, there's really no excuse --"

"What is it, Ritsu?" he cut in curtly.

Sohma Ritsu's eyes widened. Intimidated by the undercurrent of impatience in Yuki's voice, he began bowing even deeper.

"_Please_ forgive me, Yuki-san -- I mean, Sohma-sensei!" he corrected himself hastily, becoming even more flustered. "I truly apologize --"

Suddenly the door was flung fully open, the knob striking the wall forcefully. Ritsu jumped, startled. Yuki stared at the figure in the doorway.

"Move," it commanded.

"H-hai," Ritsu mumbled, bowing again as he shuffled to the side.

The man crossed the room with slow, deliberate strides, the hem of his long coat swinging with each step. He stopped in front of Yuki's desk.

Yuki looked up at him, his eyes narrowing.

"Haru," he murmured, trying to gauge _which_ Haru stood before him.

Sohma Hatsuharu planted one hand squarely on the desk and leaned over, curving his palm against Yuki's cheek.

"What's this I hear," he whispered, his tone low and dangerous, "that you're not eating?"

Yuki made no move to avoid the hand cradling his cheek. "You talked to Momiji."

"He's worried about you. And I am too." Hatsuharu scanned Yuki's face, noting the gauntness underneath the cheekbones. He brushed his fingers gently against Yuki's jaw. "Don't make me worry, Yuki. You know I care about you the most."

Yuki said nothing in reply. Pushing away from the desk, he got up and walked over to the wall, flicking the lights on. The room was flooded in brightness. He glanced at the doorway.

Ritsu looked down at his feet hastily, clutching his appointment book to his chest.

"It's alright, Ritsu," Yuki assured him. "You can go back to your desk now."

Ritsu hung his head.

"Oh, but -- "

"You didn't do anything wrong," Yuki said, regretting his earlier loss of patience. Ritsu was smartly dressed in business attire, the dark suit complementing his fair complexion. It was painful to watch him cower by the door. Sighing, Yuki went to him and touched his shoulder.

"Haru didn't cause any trouble outside," he said softly. "Thank you for taking care of him."

Shaking his head, Ritsu began to deny the compliment again, but Yuki interrupted him:

"Ritsu, remember what we agreed on? What did we say is the right answer when someone says _thank you_?"

Ritsu looked up at him.

"_You're... welcome?_" he answered timidly.

"It's not a question."

Ritsu bit his lip.

"You're welcome," he repeated.

Yuki smiled. "Good. Now I don't want to hear any more apologies out of you." He began walking back to the desk.

Ritsu stood there for a moment longer, pointedly avoiding Hatsuharu's gaze. Slowly he turned towards the doorway.

"Oh, and Ritsu -- "

Ritsu stopped and faced them, eyes downcast again.

"Did Kyou call at all?" Yuki asked.

"No, Dr. Sohma."

"What about Hatori?"

"There were no personal calls, sir."

Yuki was silent.

"You're expecting a call from Kyou?" Haru asked.

"Somewhat." He gave Ritsu a brief nod. "Thank you, Ritsu. That'll be all for now."

Ritsu bowed and reached for the doorknob. Quietly he shut the door behind him.

Yuki stood behind his desk and slipped the memo back inside the folder. He glanced at Hatsuharu.

"Why don't you sit down, Haru."

With cool grace, Haru settled his long frame into one of the two seats positioned before Yuki's desk. He stretched out his boot-clad feet.

"How is he doing?" he muttered, tilting his head slightly towards the door.

Yuki sat down and switched his monitor back on. "Very well. He seems to like it here."

"He looks good in a suit."

"I tell him that every day."

Haru studied his face.

"But _you_ don't look good at all," he remarked.

Yuki felt a slight annoyance rising in his chest. He turned his attention to the documents sitting in his inbox, taking out the whole sheaf and quickly scanning through the first page.

"I'm fine, Haru," he said evenly. "It's just that Momiji wanted to eat but I didn't have time."

"Everyone makes time to eat, Yuki. You can't _not_ eat."

"I can't _not_ do this work. I need to get it done."

Hatsuharu leaned back in his seat, resting a leather-clad ankle on his knee.

"She'll be alright, you know. He won't hurt her -- "

"_Please_ don't say that," Yuki interrupted, his voice soft and strained. "Because you _don't_ know."

Haru gazed at his cousin in silence. Yuki was unconsciously gripping the papers in his hands, his slender fingers trembling delicately with tension. His eyes were unnaturally bright, his face paler than usual.

Momiji had said he hadn't eaten since the day before.

"You're right," Haru muttered, "I don't know anything. I can't say I know what Akito's planning. But you see... I believe Hatori-nii-san. And if he says that Akito won't hurt her, well... that's what I'll tell myself. You should try doing that too, Yuki. After all, there's nothing we can do -- "

"There _is_," Yuki said fiercely. "Kyou's with the police right now. They've started their investigation -- "

"Well then, that's great. So maybe you can relax for a bit and have something to eat."

"I can't, Haru," he gritted. "I _have _to get this work done."

"Yuki."

Yuki kept his eyes fixed on the paper.

Haru reached over and pulled the whole sheaf from his hands. Carelessly, he tossed it onto the chair across from him.

Yuki shot him a furious glare.

"Haru, I'm working right now," he said coldly.

"You're not really working, Yuki. You're too worried about her to think about anything else."

"At _least_ I'm trying! You don't understand. I have a presentation -- "

"Let's have lunch," Haru said abruptly.

Yuki frowned. "Lunch?"

"Yeah. Lunch."

Yuki took a deep breath, recharging his patience.

"Haru," he said, careful to keep his tone even, "it's _four o'clock_ in the afternoon."

Hatsuharu shrugged, flicking his windblown white hair away from his eyes.

"Yeah, well I got lost looking for this damn building. I've never seen so many one-way streets in my life. To get anywhere you have to go three blocks in the wrong direction."

"How long were you looking for it?"

Haru paused thoughtfully.

"Uh... I left work at noon, so... four hours?"

Yuki's eyes widened.

"You've been away from work for _four hours_? They must be wondering where you are!"

Haru waved a hand dismissively, the metal studs on his black leather wristband glinting in the light.

"It's a hair salon, Yuki. The world won't end if I'm not there for a couple of hours."

"Where did you leave your bike?"

"Outside the entrance. I told the doorman to watch it." He arched a brow. "So? Shall we go? I brought an extra helmet for you."

Yuki hesitated.

"You know, Yuki," Haru said quietly, "if you don't take care of yourself, you can't help find Honda-san. How are you going to rescue her if you let yourself waste away like this?"

There was a long silence. Yuki stared at the folder sitting on his blotter.

_Tohru... No matter what, I'll find you. __I'll get you back from him._

"Alright," he said to Haru. "Let's go."

* * *

Tohru stood before the wide sink, a thick robe draped on her shoulders, her skin warm from the steam of the bath.

_. . . **"... All this is for you."**_

She stared at the veins of light copper on the marble countertop. It was more than anything she could have ever imagined -- the house, and him...

The steam on the mirror had already faded away, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see the sharpness of her own reflection. Slowly, she raised her eyes and stared at the face in the mirror.

She didn't get to see her face too often. Looking at it now, she found it less pale and less haggard than when she had seen it first, in the car that day, when she had woken up. Her cheeks had some color to them now. And her eyes... She blinked, frowning slightly.

How strange. Now her eyes seemed... blue.

_I thought they were green._

Her robe gaped open slightly, revealing a narrow column of her flesh. Staring intently at the body in the mirror, she parted the robe just a little bit more, exposing the white span of her stomach and the curve of her breast. The breasts were small and light. And the stomach... her fingers moved lightly over it. The stomach was flat.

Hesitantly, she let her palm rest against it.

Was there a heartbeat? Was there a child, growing inside, drawing life from her, sheltered within her womb? She felt nothing under her fingertips. She stared hard at the pale face in the mirror, and at the body that went with the face.

It was the face of a stranger. It was a body she did not know.

_Inside this body is a child..._

_Is there really? I don't feel it. I don't feel anything._

But he had said... he had told her...

Suddenly the door opened. Akito took a step inside and stopped short, his hand still on the doorknob. Their eyes met in the mirror -- hers wide and startled, his opaque and veiled by those long lashes. Even in the mirror, she could see their dusky shadow framing the slant of his eyes.

Those eyes were fixed unyieldingly on her now -- moving slowly down the pale skin left exposed by the gaping robe, stopping at the hand so boldly splayed against her stomach. His gaze met hers again. This time there was an undeniable intensity in his eyes -- a liquid darkness which she found frightening, yet strangely compelling all the same.

Disturbed by those eyes, and giving in to the creeping embarrassment, she hastily pulled the robe closed and looked away. Her hand clutched blindly for the sash at her back.

She felt him walking towards her. In a second he had both ends of the sash in his hands. He turned her around to face him and tied the robe snugly shut.

A hot blush spread across her cheeks and down her neck.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep," he said.

"Oh... " she smiled nervously, wrapping her arms around her middle, "I must have taken a long time. I'm sorry I made you worry. I've... I've finished anyway, so if you... "

He reached out and let a wet lock of hair slide neatly off his fingertip.

"You ought to dry your hair now, you know," he murmured. "The water's soaking onto your back. It's not good to stay in a damp robe."

She was suddenly aware of the cool moistness at her back.

"Ah… right." She stepped away from him and clasped the collar of the robe tighter around her neck. "I'll go and change now." She turned towards the doorway.

"Wait."

She stopped and glanced back at him. Akito pulled a towel from the rack.

"Here." He handed it to her. "For your hair."

"Oh." She clasped the towel in her arms. "Thank you."

Leaving the bathroom slippers near the door, she headed down the hallway to their bedroom, her feet padding softly against the cool hardwood floor. She paused at the edge of the tatamis. He had already laid out their futons, side by side. The door to the veranda was open. A soft breeze blew in from the sea.

She went to the shoji at the side of the room and slid it open. The night they had arrived, she had seen him dump the bags there... She felt around on the wall, found the switch, and flicked it up. The light turned on.

Her eyes widened.

Slowly, she wandered inside, totally caught up in awe.

It had to be the biggest closet she had ever seen in her life, whether she remembered anything or not. It was hard to imagine closets being any larger. The ceiling was high and punctuated with two skylights. Long wooden bars, set at multiple heights, shot from one end of the room to the other. Several narrow mirrored doors stood near the far wall.

She walked to them and opened one slowly. Set into the cabinet were five levels of revolving shelves. Behind the next door was the same contraption, only this time the shelves were fitted with drawers. She pulled one open and discovered that it was partitioned into little circular cells.

_Oh, I see... that one is for sweaters, and this one is for socks..._

_There's so many little circles. Do we even have enough socks to fill them all?_

She stared at the drawer for a moment longer, then pushed it back into the shelf.

Quietly she closed the cabinet doors, suddenly struck by the overwhelming emptiness of the place. Fine-looking hangers, carved out of dark wood, hung at one end of the bars, but they held nothing -- they seemed to her like pitiful empty shoulders huddled there in the corner. The closet was just like the rest of the house -- fantastically new, filled with stylish ingenuities, but empty all the same.

She glanced to the side. The two duffel bags that Akito had brought sat on the floor, their wrinkled and beaten appearance at odds with the magnificence of the closet.

_These bags are the only things in this house that feel real. Everything else is so... new._

The newness of everything made her feel even more disconnected from her surroundings and from herself. There were absolutely no traces of the past anywhere. In the whole house, there was not a single photograph or box of junk to be seen. Neither had she found anything old, worn, or even remotely familiar. Everything seemed connected only to the present, to _this_ reality -- a reality that she was beginning to find frighteningly empty at its heart.

It was a new house. They had just moved in. And she _did_ have a problem recalling things.

_But something should at least look familiar to me. Where are the things we owned before we moved here?_

Once more, her eyes were drawn to the bags. They were ordinary duffel bags -- not sturdy, not large, and not even packed to the limit.

_Everything we owned can't possibly be in just these two bags._..

She knelt down and pulled one of the bags closer. It was open, clothes messily spilling out. Akito had obviously gone through it in a hurry when he had helped her get ready for their little trip to the grocery store. She reached into the tumble of clothing and pulled out a pair of black slacks.

Undoubtedly his. She folded the slacks and laid them on the floor beside her.

Looking once more inside the bag, she saw layer upon layer of black, in different textures -- silk, cotton, wool. She took the clothes out and put them into orderly piles, separating the tops from the bottoms.

Then she spotted a corner of color peeking out from under a black sweater.

She removed the sweater and found herself staring at a small pastel blouse. She pulled it out of the bag. It was a simple top, made out of cotton, with a charming embroidered square neck. She glanced back in the bag and found a pink skirt and, under it, a light green dress. She took them both out and spread all three pieces of clothing on her lap.

Her fingers moved over the material reverently.

_My clothes..._

She suddenly had the absurd impulse to hug the clothing close, as if they were old, long-lost friends. She peered back inside the bag and frowned.

What, no more? _He_ had two full piles of clothing, but she only had... three pieces?

_Well, there's still another bag..._

She reached for it. Unlike the one she had just gone through, this bag was tightly shut -- the zipper up all the way, the handles gathered into a velcro hand grip. Slowly, she pulled the velcro apart and let the handles fall to the sides. She dragged the zipper downwards.

The black canvas parted, revealing a jumble of small plastic bottles. She pushed the bag open fully. The bottles rolled off into the folds of the collapsed fabric. At the bottom of the bag were some more clothes... some more shirts and some socks. For a moment, she was tempted to dig them out to see if they were hers too.

But her eyes were drawn to the little white bottles. She picked one up and scrutinized the label.

There was a long, intimidating-looking chemical name printed on it. She turned the bottle to the side. A bar code was stamped next to the usual warnings -- for prescription use only, keep in a cool and dry place...

Something in the corner of the label caught her eye. She peered at it, trying to decipher the uncommon kanji.

"Soh... ma... Pharmaceutical... " she read out slowly.

"_WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!_"

Tohru's head whipped around. Akito stood in the doorway, his eyes wide. He stared at the bottle she held in her hand.

"Oh... I... " She looked at the bottle again. "I was just -- "

He didn't wait for her to finish. He strode into the closet and yanked the bag off the floor. With a roughness that startled her, he snatched the bottle from her hand. His fingers curled around it with convulsive intensity.

"_This _is none of your business," he hissed.

Tohru held still, rooted to the spot by the sudden, vicious fury in his eyes. He was so angry his hands shook.

"I'm sorry... " she whispered. "I -- I didn't know what was in the bag -- "

"I left it shut for a reason!!!"

She cringed. Unconsciously, she held on to the clothing in her lap, the virulence in his voice making her want to shrink away from him.

"I was just looking for something... to change into." The words were soft -- apologetic and afraid.

His arm shot out, a finger pointed stiffly towards the bedroom.

"Your sleeping robe is inside your futon," he said through gritted teeth, "_exactly_ where you left it this morning."

She didn't even look up.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice almost inaudible. "I didn't know."

He stood there fuming, staring down at her. The silence stretched on into a choking heaviness. Without another word, he walked out of the closet. She listened to his footsteps, brisk and angry, move down the hallway and grow faint.

He had gone downstairs. She bowed her head, a rush of tears stinging her eyes.

She had ruined the evening for both of them. She should have asked, should have checked with him first...

_I didn't know he would be so upset..._

_What are those things anyway? Why does he want to hide them from me?_

There were so many things she didn't understand -- the empty house, the sickness she had, the past she couldn't remember. But him -- her own husband, the only person in her life -- she had told herself that she__did remember him, this thoughtful, soft-spoken man who watched over her zealously and never left her side. That this was the man who loved her, and whom she had loved...

But the truth was -- she understood him least of all.

The pile of his clothing sat by her elbow. She gazed at it for a long moment. Then, with hesitant fingers, she reached for the sweater at the top of the pile.

It was cashmere, soft and silky, dyed a deep black. The color was as unyieldingly dark as his eyes. She held the sweater close to her face. The fabric held a faint trace of sandalwood and cedar -- a masculine scent, clean and crisp.

_Is this what he smells like? _she wondered. They had slept side by side the night before, and he had hugged her close that morning, but she had never really stayed close enough to be able to discern his scent. Slowly, she lowered her head and buried her face in the fabric.

The scent filled her senses.

_Akito..._

Tears began to spill out of her eyes onto the cashmere.

She wanted so much to be close to him, to make herself remember who he was and what he meant to her. She wanted to be held, to be assured again that everything would be alright. There was only one thing in her mind -- one face, one person. She wanted more than anything to be able to touch him, to be near him, to hold on.

He was all she had. Yet now, she found herself fearing that the warmth she had felt that morning would turn out to be empty too.

A face, stark and harsh with anger. A small white bottle gripped in a trembling fist.

_Akito..._

Her fingers curled into the sweater.

_What are you hiding from me? Why won't you tell me everything?_

_Please... don't be like this._

_I need you so much._

* * *

Akito strode into the study and threw the bag onto the floor. Several bottles spilled out and rolled off onto the tatami, stopping near his feet. He kicked them away in frantic rage, hating the sight of them, hating the feel of their little plastic bodies touching his foot. He glared at the bottle in his hand.

Sohma Pharmaceuticals.

_Sohma..._

With vicious force, he hurled the bottle against the wall. The edge of the plastic cap made a small nick in the smooth wooden paneling. The bottle fell to the floor, the pills inside clattering noisily.

Akito covered his face with his hands, blocking out the sight of the small white monstrosities that surrounded him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out, break things, throw those bottles into the dark black water outside. He wanted to dump all of them into the water, into the surf, so they'd be washed out to sea and he'd never have to look at them again...

_Careless!!! _How could he have been so _utterly, stupidly careless!!!_

The medicine... she had seen the medicine... the cursed medicine...

_It's the curse of my life --_

The curse. Always the curse. There would be no escape.

With a trembling hand, he pushed his hair away from his face and stared hard at the bottles at his feet.

They were the only things that were saving him. He knew that better than anyone. But god, how he hated them -- the little jingly noise they made, their bitter taste, their sharp hard compressed edges scraping his throat. For as long as he could remember, he had had to take them -- different kinds over the years, small ones and large ones, white and colored -- but always taken in handfuls, all bitter and hard to swallow and sickeningly vile. There was a time when he had thought it would make no more difference whether he drank them or not. He had felt like a wasting tunnel of flesh, shot through with holes from all the injections Hatori gave him, pills being poured in every four hours or so.

A dead body stuffed with drugs. That was what he was. Good as dead, the chemicals preserving him, keeping him from rotting away much faster. The Sohmas, in their benevolent loyalty, had seen fit to prolonging his life.

How grateful of them. How admirably filial.

There had been a time when he had believed in that loyalty.

_. . . **"Akito-sama, please come inside. It's too windy in the garden, and we don't want you to catch a cold..."**_

_. . .**"Akito-sama, you mustn't tire yourself so... We are all here to serve you..."**_

So many voices, everything a lie. Until one day, he had finally heard the truth.

. . . _**"Akito, you are the only one who can break the curse."**_

Ah, Hatori. One had to admire his frankness.

Well.

Too bad nobody knew exactly _what_ he needed to do to break it. Which was just as well. Even if he did know, he most certainly would not do it for their benefit. In fact, he was quite convinced he would enjoy _not_ breaking the curse. After all, even if he did break it, he would still die. His body was being ravaged, weakened beyond repair, with every day that passed. The curse no longer made any difference.

Yes. He had determined a long time ago that he was going to disappoint them all. Softly, in the quiet of his room, he had laughed to himself. The agony was excruciating, but at least they were being tortured too.

But then...

Everything had suddenly changed.

_. . .** "I want to see... "**_

A voice he had despised --

_. . .** "... how terrible it is... "**_

A face he had found revolting --

_. . .** "... this pain of yours."**_

Akito stared out the window blindly, hearing the waves lapping in the darkness. The tide was probably high tonight, the water reaching up boldly across the sand, daring to touch and cover everything with itself. The night beyond the window reminded him of a similar darkness, and a similar touch -- unafraid, gentle, and all-encompassing, leaving in its wake a calm warmth.

Even now, he had no idea how it had happened, or why it had happened -- he only knew that things were no longer the same. A body he had thought dead could suddenly feel. A woman he had believed worthless had suddenly given him reason to live.

He dropped down on one knee, and slowly began collecting the small bottles, putting them back into the bag. He picked up the last bottle off the floor and stared at it. After a second's thought, he twisted the cap open and shook out three pills. It was time to take the evening dose, anyway. The pills sat there in his palm, white and crisply compressed, insidiously plain. He popped them into his mouth and stood. The bitterness spreading over his tongue had long since become a dulled, familiar taste.

He walked over to the desk and opened up the half-empty bottle of oolong tea he had left there that afternoon. With one gulp, he forced the pills down his throat. Setting the bottle down, he picked up the bag and brought it near the wall.

Over one of the wooden panels hung a wide antique scroll. He pushed it to one side and pressed a small black button embedded in the wood. The panel slid open.

A large, imposing safe sat before him. He punched in a sequence of numbers on the digital keypad. The lock clicked. He pulled the heavy metal door open and began transferring the bottles inside, arranging them in neat, orderly rows on one shelf. When all the bottles had been put away, he turned his attention to the pile of documents sitting on the lowest level of the safe. He checked them quickly. The title to the house, the access numbers to his new bank account, several legal papers... all there, exactly as he had left them the night before.

He shut the safe, slid the wooden panel over it, and let the scroll fall back into place.

Everything would be locked away, far from her memory, far from her eyes. In time, perhaps she would find out the truth -- about the money, about the medicine, about the name. About the marriage and the house and the reason why she could remember nothing. But by then, he'd probably be dead.

All that mattered now was the time they had together.

_If I managed to live this long just to spite the Sohmas, maybe... if I'm careful enough..._

Gripping the handles of the limp duffel, he walked out of the room and headed purposefully towards the stairs_._

He needed to be careful. Her life depended on it.

* * *

He found her on the veranda, still clad in the bathrobe, running a comb through her dripping hair. The towel he had given her was draped on the railing. She stood with her back to him, staring out to sea.

"I told you to change out of that robe."

She turned around quickly, the comb halting halfway down her hair. Her eyes were wary.

"My hair's still wet," she murmured.

Akito took the towel off the railing and pulled a wooden deck chair to where she stood.

"Sit."

He waited behind the chair. After a moment's hesitation, Tohru walked over and sat down.

Immediately he began toweling her hair. The movement was vigorous yet gentle, his fingers light and deft. She sat there silently, her back stiff, her body visibly tense. Akito finished with the towel and threw it onto his shoulder. Placing his fingertips at her temples, he tilted her head slightly backwards. Tohru found herself staring up at the stars.

He leaned over and took the comb from her hand. Slowly, he drew it through her hair, stopping at each tangle and patiently unraveling each snag. She felt no tugging, no strands snapping and breaking. He continued until all the tangles were gone and the comb ran sleekly through.

Tohru closed her eyes. His movements had a soothing, paced quality to them -- from the top, then downwards in one smooth glide, then back at the top again -- like breathing. She felt her neck beginning to relax. Bit by bit, the tension in her spine began to melt away.

Akito stopped combing.

"Sleepy already?" There was a hint of a smile in his voice.

She leaned back into the chair, resting her head against his hands.

"A bit. This feels so good."

With one hand supporting her head, Akito slipped the comb back into her palm and pulled the towel from his shoulder. He gathered her hair into a loose ponytail and wrapped the towel around it. Briskly he began rubbing the ends dry.

"Well, you can't sleep just yet," he said. "Unless you want to go and blow dry your hair now."

She shook her head, looking up again at the stars above them.

"No, I think I'll sit out here for a little while. It's beautiful tonight."

"You might catch a cold."

She lifted her hand and felt the breeze pass, light and balmy, through her fingers. "The air's warm. I think it'll be alright."

The palm leaves shushed gently in the silence. His hands, cloaked with the towel, continued to move against her hair.

Gazing up at the stars, Tohru noticed a dark, unusually large patch of sky, devoid of stars. There was nothing there -- no misty evening cloud, no glimmer of light. Only an inky, infinite darkness. The profound emptiness of that stretch of sky somehow reminded her of his eyes.

Quietly, she said to him:

"I'm sorry about the bag."

There was a short silence.

"It's not important," he muttered. "You just took me by surprise." He went on toweling her hair.

"Are you sick?"

His hands froze.

She turned her head and looked up at him.

"Akito?"

"No," he answered.

Her brow creased slightly.

"But those bottles -- "

"I said_ no._"

The cold finality in his voice silenced her. His face was pale and tense in the moonlight. He pulled the towel from her hair and tossed it back onto the railing, turning his back to her.

"Are they for me then?" she asked him softly. "That medicine -- is it for me?"

Akito gripped the railing and stared at the vast blankness of ocean before him, trying to clear his mind.

She was asking a simple question.

_Just answer it._

He knew all the answers. He had everything planned out, down to the last lie. It should be no problem to respond in a perfectly calm voice. She would accept anything he said. She knew nothing, suspected nothing, had no reason to imagine anything vaguely close to the truth. She _couldn't _imagine anything near the truth. There was no way she would be able to remember.

No way. Hatori's work was always permanent and completely annihilating. The memories could never again be recalled because they had simply ceased to exist.

There really was no reason to worry. She was miles away from the Sohmas, in a place where those meddling brats would never find her. There was nothing around her that held even a hint of the past.

_The medicine, _he remembered with sudden anxiety. She had seen the medicine.

Akito closed his eyes for a moment and consciously forced himself to calm down.

Perhaps it wouldn't be a problem -- that she had seen the name. For all she knew, it was just the name of a drug company, nothing more. As for the drugs themselves...

Slowly, his fingers eased their grip on the railing.

"No," he finally said. "That medicine isn't for you." He turned and looked down at her. "Don't worry yourself about it. It's just something I keep on hand for emergencies."

She regarded him in silence.

"I see," she murmured.

Somehow he found that calm answer disturbing. He looked away from her unsettling gaze and surveyed the robe that covered her body.

"I presume you've found your clothes already, since you've been looking through the bags?"

She sat up slowly in the chair and smoothed her hair into a slick ponytail, pulling it forward over her shoulder.

"Well... I have, I guess. Although... there's really not a lot, you know... " 

Akito studied her as she sat there, clad in his luxuriously thick robe, stroking her hair.

_Of course, _he thought to himself with some irritation._ Isn't it just like a woman to complain about clothes._

Of course she didn't have enough clothes. He barely had had enough time to pack for himself. If only she knew the trouble he'd gone through to snatch those things from her closet! And at least he'd had the foresight to pack the snow boots and wool coat for that short side trip to Sendai.

_Not enough clothes... __What now? I'll have to take her shopping too?_

Suddenly, a realization came to him.

_Why... __how silly of me._

His lips curved into a slow smile.

"Would you like to go shopping tomorrow?" he asked her.

She stared at him. "Shopping?"

"Yes. For clothes. Or whatever else you think you need."

"But there aren't any department stores here -- "

"Of course there aren't, silly. We'll have to take the ferry to Ishigaki. We can even go to Okinawa, if you like."

Her eyes widened. "Okinawa?"

"There are more stores there."

Tohru sat there mutely, unsure of what to say.

_Okinawa. Shopping. A ferry._

She looked down at the comb in her hands. He had been in such a rage earlier that evening. Yet now --

"You probably think the house is a little bare, don't you?" Akito remarked.

She hesitated a moment.

"... I _was_ wondering where all of our things are."

"Oh, you mean our junk?" he asked with careless indifference. "They're in storage."

She looked at him. "Can we go get them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have the key." He pushed away from the railing. "You see, Tohru... my family and I had a falling-out which was quite serious, and -- in all probability -- permanent. That's why I bought this house. That's why we're here. So we can start over in our own place, far away from them."

Her eyes were fixed intently on his face. "Your family... "

"... Is made up of people whom, fortunately, you will never have to encounter again in your life. Don't even worry about the things we've left behind, Tohru. We can buy anything you think we need tomorrow."

He leaned close and ran his fingertips gently through the damp, sleek mass of her hair.

"What do you say?" he murmured. "A day out tomorrow, just you and me... "

_Just you and me..._

His sleeve brushed her cheek. A trace of sandalwood lingered in the air.

She looked up and met his eyes -- those deep, still eyes that always hid something from her. At that moment, she thought she saw something different, something she had missed before...

Was it sadness? A distant sadness, well-hidden behind his calm?

She felt something twist in her chest.

_I never even saw it, _she thought, the guilt suddenly painful._ The whole time -- even now..._

_He's being strong for me._

He had left his family behind. He had no one else but her, nothing else but what they had in this house.

_**. . . "So we can start over in our own place... "**_

She suddenly had an urge to cry.

_Although I'm so useless... this person needs me too._

Blinking back the tears, she reached out and touched his cheek.

_He needs me._

"I'd love to go," she whispered.

He smiled, clasping her hand and pulling her up from the chair.

"Let's blow dry your hair then, so we can go to sleep," he said. "I'd like to catch the early ferry tomorrow."

Tohru let herself be led back into the bedroom, her feet light, following his.

"How early is the early ferry?" she asked.

"Right around sunrise." He walked into the bathroom.

"Sunrise!"

He pulled the hair dryer from its cradle in the wall and smiled at her.

"Yes, sunrise. Have you ever been out at sunrise, Tohru?"

She shook her head,

"The water turns to gold," he said softly.

Tohru gazed at him, her mind filled with images of a glimmering sea.

"Tomorrow," he said, turning her around gently. His arm curled against her collarbone, pulling her close. She found herself leaning back into his embrace. "Tomorrow I'll show you," he promised. He pressed his lips against her hair.

Tohru reached up and touched his wrist, touched the arm that held her so possessively.

"Hai," she whispered, feeling his warmth seep into her heart.

_Tomorrow, and the day after that..._

_We have all the time in the world._

* * *

Hatori stood patiently in the waiting area, his eyes fixed on the doorway of the gate. The first-class passengers were already emerging from the tube, all looking relatively decent despite the twelve-hour transpacific flight they had just endured. He glanced for a moment at the large digital airport clock near the wall. Its bright red numbers read _7:30_.

Seven-thirty in the evening. Kyou hadn't called at all. That probably meant there was no progress in the investigation.

He had expected as much.

Scanning the lounge briefly, he found himself wishing he could pull a cigarette from his pocket and have a quick smoke. Shigure was taking his sweet time coming out of the airplane. How surprising. _He_ was the one who had insisted that he be picked up on time. The flight had landed fifteen minutes ago.

Suddenly, a low rumble broke into Hatori's thoughts. With some embarrassment, he looked down at his stomach.

How unbelievable. Even though he was standing in a noisy airport lounge, he could _hear_ his stomach grumbling.

Intent on keeping his rigid poise intact, he tugged discreetly at his coat, pulling it tighter around his body. Dinner. He had been in such a rush to get to the airport that he had missed his usual late lunch. Now it seemed that dinner would be late as well.

_I wonder if Shigure will want to go to the Main House first._

They would arrive too late for dinner, but in any case, he could always have the cook heat up the leftovers. If Shigure agreed, perhaps they could have a little gathering that night -- Ayame would probably drop by. And Haru would probably come home late anyway, since it was a Friday. On Fridays, all the socialites in Tokyo flocked to the salons to have their hair done before they jetted off on their weekend getaways.

_So a late dinner, then -- Haru, Ayame, Shigure, Momiji... and Kyou..._

Suddenly he remembered --

_Yuki._

Yuki. He had to check up on Yuki sometime. Momiji had told him some disturbing things -- that Yuki wasn't eating, that he stayed in his office all day long, with all the lights out, just staring into space...

Hatori decided then that he would drive straight to the IMF building from the airport, and pick Yuki up himself.

At that moment, a tall, slender man clad in a black wool coat passed through the gate and paused halfway into the waiting area. His eyes swept across the lounge, stopping when they met Hatori's gaze.

Hatori remained where he was, watching as Shigure crossed the floor with brisk strides.

There was something different. Something about Shigure had changed.

Shigure came to a halt before him.

"Hatori." A brief nod.

"Shigure."

There was no smile, no _'Ha-san'_, no flirty cheerfulness. Shigure's dark eyes were unusually solemn. His fingers gripped the handles of a compact overnight bag.

"Shall we go?"

Hatori glanced at the bag.

"That's all you brought?"

"Yes."

The curtness of the reply gave Hatori pause. He studied his cousin in silence.

An undercurrent of tension fired the lines of Shigure's face, giving it a sharp, harsh cast. His lips were thinned into a grim, impatient line. Fatigue shadowed the hollows underneath his eyes.

"Where did you park?" Shigure asked him.

"In the south lot."

Slinging the strap of his bag onto his shoulder, Shigure walked into the wide hallway and stared into the distance, searching for the south exit.

"It's this way," Hatori said, turning to the opposite direction.

Saying nothing, Shigure fell into step beside him, his eyes fixed on the green exit light far ahead.

"You flew coach," Hatori commented.

Shigure had to restrain his strides in order to keep pace. "There were no available seats in first class."

"I'm surprised you were able to come so soon."

"I took an emergency leave."

Hatori's brow arched fractionally.

"I thought you couldn't."

"I just did."

"You just left, you mean. Without permission."

"It doesn't matter if I have permission or not," Shigure snapped. "That's why it's called an emergency."

A silence settled between them.

_How very unusual, _Hatori mused. Shigure's temper was strangely strained, and that characteristic cool self-possession of his was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly Shigure spoke.

"We are going straight to the Main House tonight," he said flatly. "When we arrive, I want _everybody_ there. Do you understand me, Hatori? _Everybody. _Make whatever phone calls you have to make. I want to speak with every single person who's been near Tohru ever since she came back from New York."

"That's going to be a bit difficult, Shigure."

Shigure shot him a hard glare. A cold, controlled fury came momentarily unmasked in the depths of his eyes.

"_A bit difficult? _Is that why you're letting the police handle everything?"

"You don't even know what we've been doing."

"That's right," Shigure answered, turning his gaze back to the stretch of hallway before them. "That's why you're going to tell me _everything_. Everything, Hatori -- starting with Akito. And we're not going to stop until I find out exactly howTohru ended up with him."

In those words Hatori detected a tightness, a lashed-in tension seething through. He stared at the shifting flow of nameless faces passing them by.

To Shigure, she had just been another face. Another tool, another pawn -- fit to be used for his purposes, nothing more. He had even admitted it himself.

_**. . . "No matter whom I use, or whom I hurt... "**_

He lived solely for the fulfillment of his dream. Nothing else was in his heart, nothing else had the power to touch him.

Yet...

"And Hatori... " Shigure murmured, breaking into his thoughts.

Hatori glanced at him.

"... I'd better like what I hear. Because if I find out that _you_ let him take her away... "

Shigure's gaze flicked to his for an instant. Suddenly Hatori was reminded of Akito's dark, still eyes.

"... I don't think I'd be able to forgive you," Shigure finished softly.

Hatori said nothing.

They walked on in silence.

The moment lingered in Hatori's mind. Threats veiled in delicate whispers, fury hidden in calm eyes -- those were nothing new. They had been an aspect of daily life when Akito had been around. That whisper was Akito's whisper; those eyes, Akito's eyes.

Shigure had changed.

Hatori wondered what he would say when he found out that Tohru's memories had been erased. That she had gone to Akito of her own free will.

That she was carrying a child.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. Shigure looked at him.

Hatori reached into his breast pocket and pulled the phone out.

"Yes?"

It was Kyou.

Hatori listened intently. Shigure stood before him quietly -- watching, waiting.

After a long moment of silence, Hatori said:

"We'll be there." He hung up.

Shigure waited. 

Hatori slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at his cousin's expressionless face.

"They've been found."


	6. Recovery

**In the Absence of Memory **  
by mikan

**Chapter Six: Recovery**

"Shigure. There is something you must know."

They were on their way to the headquarters of Tokyo police, the car speeding smoothly towards the city. Hatori's eyes were fixed on the road, his expression the usual inscrutable calm mask. Yet Shigure detected an undercurrent of urgency in his words.

Hatori did not wait for him to reply. "Tohru is pregnant with Akito's child."

* * *

"We have traced them to an island in the south, near Okinawa. The local police have already been alerted. They have set up a discreet surveillance perimeter around the house."

"House?"

"Yes." Kiba Hiroyuki, chief of Tokyo police, glanced once more at the report on his desk. "It's beachfront property, recently purchased by one Okishima Akito. If you will recall from the transcript I showed you earlier, that same name was given by the unknown male caller from the condo in Sendai."

"Yes."

"At this point, we are certain beyond any doubt that the caller was Sohma Akito. From photographs we presented, the airport shuttle driver was able to positively identify the couple he had picked up from the condo as Sohma Akito and Honda Tohru. According to the driver, Sohma appeared to be quite agitated, while the young woman seemed somewhat ill and weak, since she had to be transported in a wheelchair..." Kiba paused. "I'm sorry, did I miss something?"

Sohma Shigure had barely shifted in his seat, but Kiba could tell that every line of his body had tensed.

"I was never told about a wheelchair," came the cold reply.

Kiba frowned.

"Is that so." He flipped through the report, pausing on the third page and skimming it quickly. "Yes... the caller had requested a wheelchair from the shuttle service. It was used to transport the young woman from the apartment to the van, and from the van to the inside of the airport. It's a relatively minor detail "

"It is not minor by any means."

Kiba regarded Sohma Shigure's grim face in silence.

"You are right," he said after a moment. "I apologize for the omission."

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the pause.

Finally Shigure spoke.

"I appreciate the assistance your department has given my family, Kiba-san. You may be assured that you will be amply rewarded for your efforts. However, there is a need for urgency which I cannot explain in detail at the moment. We must move quickly."

"Talk of reward is uncalled for, Sohma-sensei. We have merely done our duty."

"And you have done it well. But there is one thing I must ask of you "

"I assure you this will remain a private matter," Kiba said, anticipating his request. "That was made clear by your family, and understood from the start."

"Yes, but by private I mean _completely in our hands._ There is to be no arrest, no prosecution, no demand for the satisfaction of law. I will leave for Okinawa within the next hour. When I arrive there, I will collect my cousin and Honda-san, and together we will return home. There will be no trace of this investigation ever having occurred. I trust that you will be able to enforce that among your men?"

"Unquestionably."

"Thank you for your understanding."

"I will relay the order to the local police to have the two of them placed under custody. Of course, it "

"No."

The abruptness of the reply startled Kiba. "I beg your pardon?"

"There is to be no action taken until I arrive. Surveillance will be maintained, but that is all. This is very important, Kiba-san. Please make it clear to your men."

Kiba's brows knit. "I'm sorry, but I do not understand. I thought you said there is a need for urgency."

"There is. Our jet needs to be cleared for travel as soon as possible. Furthermore, we will be requiring some medical equipment, which we will be taking along on the plane."

"I see."

"However, at the scene, I will be the one deciding what will be done. The police will be present only to ensure that everything goes smoothly according to plan."

Kiba was hesitant.

"In that case... " he replied, "if that is what you wish, then I suppose... the local police will have to be told to await your instructions." He fell silent again, weighing his words, his unease clearly visible. "The surveillance is very discreet, and it is still night, so the situation should remain stable until your arrival. Although, if I may make a suggestion... considering what a dangerous man your cousin is, it would perhaps be wisest to let the officers subdue him first."

Shigure rose from his chair. "No need to worry." He smiled down at Hatori, who was still quietly sitting in the chair beside his. "Sohma Hatori-sensei will be accompanying me. And Akito... "

Hatori reached for his briefcase, slipped the investigation reports inside, and stood.

Shigure's smile thinned bitterly. "Akito always listens to him."

* * *

It was just as he had said. The sea was a glittering wave of gold.

She breathed in the crisp early morning air. The wind was still, the world perfectly silent. The water really did seem to be liquefied gold placid and heavy, glistening in the light. She turned away from the railing to smile at him.

"It's beautiful."

He looked out at the water. "Isn't it?" 

"Where is Ishigaki?"

"Directly ahead. You'll be able to see it soon."

She could not suppress the giggle that escaped her. "I can't wait."

He smiled at her that faint, gentle smile of his. "Did you make a shopping list?"

"Of course." She leaned back against the railing and pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse. "Let's see. White cotton curtains with pastel polka dots. A big fuzzy lavender rug. A string of little star lights." She saw his perplexed expression and laughed. "You don't approve?"

"Star lights?"

Her smile softened.

"I was thinking we could turn the room next to ours into a nursery."

"A nursery," he murmured.

"Yes. It might be a bit early, but... the star lights would look nice in the window, don't you think? And I was thinking we could also get one of those pretty night lights you know, the kind that fills the room with stars."

"There are such things?"

Her eyes widened. "You've never seen one?"

He shook his head.

Staring at him, she suddenly felt a pang of sorrow strike her heart. He stood before her, so somber in his black clothes, looking so out of place in the warm morning light. She moved closer until she was able to lay her cheek against his chest.

"Then I'll get you one too," she told him. "It makes darkness beautiful. A dark room full of stars isn't frightening anymore. That's why I want to put a light like that in the baby's room."

After a long moment she felt his arms go around her.

"We're lucky to have you, Tohru, " he said softly. "The baby and I."

* * *

She could hear the waves lapping gently against the hull of the ferry. She closed her eyes and rested in the warmth of his arms.

The lapping sound grew louder. Yet the boat remained still.

A shuffling sound filled the air. She lifted her face and looked up, expecting to see birds in the sky.

Suddenly she heard a scream.

Her eyes flew open just in time to see the shadow of a man's hulking form at her side. Something sharp and cold pricked her arm. Then a pair of burly arms locked around her and lifted her clean off her futon.

For a moment her whole body was frozen with shock. Then she heard the scream again.

She was being carried away from the room into the darkness of the hallway. Who was screaming? What was happening?

_Akito,_ she tried to say._ Akito..._

No sound came forth. Her throat had gone dry, the sudden fright choking off her voice.

"TOHRU!"

The scream cut into her consciousness, the agonized wail finally recognizable.

_Akito. _That was Akito's voice.

"Akito!" she croaked, her voice a hoarse whisper. She craned her neck to see past her captor's shoulder, her arms pushing against his chest. Her eyes searched frantically in the dim light. "Akito!"

Then she saw him.

Akito was writhing on the floor, his arms and legs held down by two men clad entirely in black. A third man knelt at his side and pushed up the sleeve of his sleeping kimono.

She was unable to see any further. The man carrying her had reached the top of the stairs and began to descend.

"Akito!" The cry was a dry, terrified gasp. She started to kick and twist, trying to free her limbs. Strangely, they felt weighted. Her whole body seemed to get heavier by the second, each movement draining more and more of her strength away.

The man carrying her halted. Vaguely she registered the surroundings: the skylights in the slanting ceiling high above their heads, the marble steps of the staircase leading upwards at her side. She realized then that she had been brought to the foyer.

"Shall I bring her to the car, sir?"

The man had spoken. The words came to her faintly, as if from far away.

At that moment, another man's face came into view. She stared up at it.

A chill stiffened her whole body.

She looked at the face, her mind suddenly going blank. The glare of the fluorescent street lamp slanted in through the decorative panels of glass that flanked the front door, casting the face in a stark gray light.

Those brows. Those eyes. The line of that jaw...

"Yes. Thank you. I will be outside shortly."

... That voice.

"Yes, sir."

The front door opened, and she was carried outside. The cool air of early morning brushed against her face. The heaviness that was spreading its weight over her body was now beginning to dull her mind. She fought to keep her eyes open and her mind alert.

_That voice... That face..._

They were going down the steps, onto the stone walk, past the open front gate. Somewhere she heard a car door open.

After that, she could no longer tell what was going on. As darkness began to slip over her eyes, she clung to one last clear thought:

She knew that voice. And she had seen that face before.

**to be continued**


	7. Part II Prologue

**A Quick Author's Note  
**(March 5, 2005)

Thank you to all who have been reading this story and encouraging me to update! Thanks to your kind words and constant support, I've finally gotten back on track. Today I'm posting the next installment of the story, but there are some things I'd like to explain first.

This story is **based on the anime. **(Nowhere else is that statement more loaded than in the Fruits Basket fandom!) Simply put, the events described in Chapter 97 of the manga have no bearing on this story. This is just the way things worked out — I decided it would be better to continue the story as is. With this update, I am starting **Part II** of **In the Absence of Memory**. I decided to designate the continuation from here on as a distinct Part since I think the style and focus of the story might be somewhat different from what it's been like before. It's been a while since I've worked on this story (I sincerely apologize for that) but I do want to complete it. Please bear with the sudden shift in style and focus. My intention is to tell the story in the way it'll best unfold.

**Part II** begins with a Prologue set in the "present day" of our story. Twenty-five years have passed since the events thus far described in the previous chapters. This is just a Prologue, of course, to open Part II. The years in between will certainly be revisited and revealed.

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think! Reviews are greatly appreciated. You can also drop by my LiveJournal (link on my profile page) and leave a comment!

—mikan

* * *

**In the Absence of Memory**  
by mikan

**Part II: Prologue**

_Okinawa_  
_Summer_

The day has grown quiet, afternoon lengthening into the small garden, settling a warm stillness over everything. The street empties, children are lulled into naps, toys and hopscotch grids abandoned in the drowsy, dusty heat. I do not dislike this part of the day; there was a time when I cherished the peace it brought. But I have found that there can be such a thing, also, as too much peace: when the air falls silent, suddenly the mind can widen, overflow. Voices, smells, faces. All spill into the emptiness of the room around you, the blankness of the air about you, and come alive. Therein lies the danger. In a surfeit of peace, all that has been lost, all that has passed, returns.

As it is doing now. I stare at the sunlight in the garden, but sounds are crowding my ears, faces flashing before my eyes. The silence is now a living mass of memory, threads of it hovering about me, converging upon me. My fingers remember touch, my body warmth all the more keen because of its absence. The softness of skin, the crispness of hair, the low rumble of a chuckle, a cheek pressed against a chest. Warmth and touch, silk under my fingers, laughter shared. A bright day.

I close my eyes and feel the throb of pain, strong and surging. It saves me. There is always this pain, running like an undercurrent to all the layers of sensation and memory, grounding me back to reality, to the truth.

The wooden gate creaks, swings open. Footsteps on the dusty path, drawing near to the porch where I am sitting. They halt directly before me.

"_Mother._"

One word, cutting and cold. I open my eyes.

The flowers are in full bloom, their centers exposed fully to the heat of the afternoon sun. Tomorrow they will bear the visible scars of such an assault: petals no longer lush, stems hardening into a browning green, leaves losing their sheen. Yet even now, as they bloom so vibrantly, even now they are dying, wilting slowly from the inside.

What is truth?

Everything dying, everything on the edges of death. That alone is truth.

I look at him. His eyes are narrowed, shuttered. In one hand he carries a briefcase; tucked under his arm is the blazer matching his dark slacks. His white dress shirt is damp with sweat. A dark suit in summer. What a stranger he has become, this son of mine. His hair — meticulously slicked backed, spiked in some places — glistens in the sun.

My son always had tousled hair.

"Akira," I say softly.

His lips tighten. "I can see that you're well."

"I've made you worry. I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry, Mother. I'm convinced that you must derive some perverse satisfaction from doing this sort of thing — dropping out of contact any time you well please, and everybody else be damned."

He is angry, as he was the last time he came.

"How many times," he continues, his tone sharp, harsh, "have I been making these trips? How many times have you had me scurrying down here, only to find the same thing every time — you sitting on that porch, without a care in the world?"

"Akira." His name is suddenly heavy, the word heavy to say. "Please. I already said I was sorry."

"We both know you're really not. You're quite famously unrepentant, Mother. And you yourself will prove me right… in about a month's time, shall we say? By then you should be bored enough to pull off another disappearing act."

"That's enough!"

"_Do you realize that yourself?_" He is furious by now, a cold, leashed fury straining his voice. "That you've kept this up long enough? I am sick unto death of having to rush down here just to check if you're still alive or if you're otherwise rotting in your bed!"

"Do not make this needlessly difficult, Akira. You know I go away for a few days once in a while. You have always known this."

"Yes. But please do try to recall also that I have requested that you inform me when you do go away. It is merely common courtesy." His fist tightens on the handle of his briefcase. "Does it ever occur to you, _Mother,_ that I am your son? Your _only_ child? I am the only relation you have. And I remind you," his voice drops a shade lower, colder, "that that is by your own choice."

I listen to him, feeling the thread of the conversation begin to twist into the old, tired argument. Once more, we are going to talk of these things, these pointless things that nevertheless still hurt both him and me. Once more, he will leave me in anger. And there will again be silence between us, that frigid silence familiar by now to me. It is my only companion, the only peace I know.

_How, _I ask myself,_ have things come to this?_

"Yes," I say quietly. "I chose you."

"No." His tone is low, but fierce, vehement. "Never me. You chose _him._"

I close my eyes, because his words are painful in their truth. But there are words that he needs to hear, too. Words he hasn't heard in a long time, words he has forgotten.

It has been too long.

"I love you, Akira. I always have. If you believe nothing else, believe at least that."

There is a sudden stillness in the air.

I look up. He is staring at me, dark eyes grave and penetrating, angry words momentarily forestalled, seething in the silence.

"Then why," he murmurs, "do you do this to me?"

In this unguarded moment, pain shows starkly in his face — that face of his which calls forth into my mind a rush of memories, memories I push away so I can see him, see his face, this child of mine standing here before me. But memory surges, overflows, and I see instead mournful eyes that are not his; I hear a voice long since faded away.

_Leave me,_ I beg. _Let me see my son.  
_  
In the shadow behind the memory, my son waits. As he has been waiting all his life. And at this moment, I am sorry beyond any apology I could ever offer, sorry beyond any atonement I could ever perform.

_Why? _he is asking me. Why are things this way?

I tell him the truth.

"Because I am not strong enough."

And it is only then that I feel the exhaustion settling upon me, the bone-deep weariness drawing my breath away. I close my eyes and sink into the deep, futile sadness. There is nothing left to say.

I wait for him to leave, for the sound of footsteps walking away, for the creak of the gate closing. Yet he remains there before me, silent and unmoving.

The air shifts. A slight whisper of a breeze flits down the porch into the garden, warm and scented like the sea.

He moves then, to my side and sits down, laying his briefcase on the rough wood of the porch. His sleeve brushes mine.

"Mother," he says quietly, "I don't understand."

The words are honest and plain. There is no edge, no anger, no coldness. I open my eyes. His face is turned towards me, his gaze on me. I am looking into the clear dark eyes of a child.

_My son._

Did I whisper to him, or was that merely the old echo of silenced words within me? I can no longer tell. It has been too long since I have had him at my side.

He looks away, looks down at his hands. One of his cuff links glints in the sun, a small, intricately cast gold square enclosed in a circular border. He touches it, running his fingertip over the engravings. Then, suddenly, he releases the clasp, deftly unfastening the cuff link.

"Do you remember this, Mother?"

I stare at his palm.

Within the circle of gold, a square emblem. Within the square, a name.

_Akito.  
_  
Everything before my eyes blurs in a wash of tears.

Do I remember? _Do I remember,_ he asks me.

I have never forgotten.

"You gave these to me a long time ago. I think I was still in grade school."

"Yes. You still have them."

He unfastens the other cuff link from his wrist and drops it into his palm. "Because I wanted to ask you."

I look at him.

"The story behind these, Mother. Tell me why the sight of them is enough to make you cry. Tell me why you gave them to me." His fist closes, the gold circles tight in his grip. "I want to know. I want to hear it from you. I want to understand why there is this love and this hate, and why we are both, each of us… alone."

His bowed head and the fierce sadness in his voice returns me to another time and place, to the side of another man broken by loneliness and unceasing pain.  
_  
… 'Do you want to know, Tohru? The true horror of this life?'_

I remember the words. And now, to this child and to myself, I must repeat them. It is the only truth I know. It is the only truth we have.

"We are cursed, Akira. With no hope of redemption."

**.:to be continued:.**


	8. Okishima Tohru

**In the Absence of Memory  
**by mikan

**Chapter Seven: Okishima Tohru**

Sohma Akito was certainly not a kind person. In many ways, until the day he died he remained the same person he was when I first met him. He was not, however, a person whom one could not love. True, he was oftentimes cruel, vicious in speech, violent in deed, utterly selfish to the core. Yet there was a pure vulnerability about him, a striking earnestness of spirit, for more than anything he wanted to break free from the circumstances of his birth and create his own life. He was forever grasping, heedlessly reaching out, trying to build something that would last, trying to find someone who would remain by his side. It was a painful way to live — hope and despair he both experienced in all their keenness. But of course, this purpose, this anguish — he hid it all too well.

This is a story of love. If you ask the others, they will each tell you otherwise — that it is about deceit, or abuse, or shameless selfishness. They are not wrong. But even with that deceit, even with that hurtful selfishness, there was love. How simple it is to say that now, to speak of things that have been realized too late. But so that you will see this story in all its truth, let me take you back to a time untainted by regret, when everything was new to my eyes and full of hidden promise.

There was a time when I could remember nothing...

* * *

_Tokyo_  
_Twenty-five years earlier_

Before she could stir fully from sleep, she heard voices. Low voices, men's voices, distinctly different in tone.

"...you're feeling...?"

"Fine, and perfectly charitable towards you, Hatori, not to worry. I am choosing not to remember that you so unfeelingly stabbed me with a needle just last night. In my sleep."

"We were worried."

A pause.

"Did I not make myself clear? I told you I wouldn't harm her."

"I was concerned you were harming yourself. If something happened to you, Tohru would have been—"

"How utterly insolent and faithless of you, Hatori!"

"You drove all the way to Sendai."

"Yes, because the villa is horribly musty and I happened to have better things planned for her."

"Akito, I trusted you."

Just then, there was a sharp sliding sound farther away to the left — a door opening, settling into place with a firm _clack_, followed by a long moment of heavy silence. She wanted to wake, open her eyes, but somehow she could not — her eyelids seemed trapped shut, her limbs weighed down. Yet she could hear with perfect clarity.

"How is she?" A third, different voice this time, flat and curt.

"Sleeping still," responded the person named Hatori. "She should wake sometime this afternoon."

"Well, well," came Akito's voice, in a tone completely unlike any she had ever heard before. "And to _what_ might I owe the pleasure of your presence, Shigure? I don't recall having summoned you."

"Hatori," the man named Shigure said abruptly, "do you think it wise that Akito is up and about so soon?"

"He appears remarkably recovered."

"Ah, but you know what they say about appearances." Footsteps clicked on the floor, heading towards her bed. "For instance, Tohru at this moment _appears_ completely normal..."

There was a rush of quick movement, then suddenly Akito's voice, very near her side, shrieking: "_Don't you dare come any closer!_"

The footsteps halted.

"What are you so afraid of, Akito?"

At that, Akito gasped, a harsh, derisive intake of air. "_Afraid?_" He laughed then, a soft, raspy cackle that lingered eerily in the pause. "You flatter yourself, Shigure. I'm merely sparing her the vileness of your presence — uninvited and unwelcome as it is."

"Forgive me, but such heroic posturing really doesn't suit you."

"Well, being here doesn't suit _you_. After all, didn't you run off in quite a huff years ago? So proud and so spectacularly cold-hearted, you were. Seeing you here now makes me wonder... has the prodigal dog finally come back to his master, tail pitifully tucked and all?"

"Akito..." came the warning from Hatori.

"What?" Akito snapped.

Shigure's voice, easy and smooth, cut into the tension. "Hatori, bless his soul, is trying to warn you not to provoke me. But as usual you are impervious to the nuances of better judgment."

There was a short silence. Then suddenly, with a touch so light she hadn't been able to sense it at first, Akito's fingers settled on her arm.

"Why, Shigure..." he remarked lazily, "it's certainly been a while since we've spoken. If I didn't know any better, I could swear it sounds like you're actually _telling_ me — ah, how shall I put it? — _not to cross you._" His fingers moved down her arm in a stroking caress. "Imagine that. Has there been a reshuffling of the Zodiac in the short time I've been away, Hatori? Because the last time I checked, _I_ was God, and Shigure was the dog licking my feet"

"Akito!"

Hatori's alarmed voice hardly gave him pause. "Why, look at the state you're in, dear cousin. I should ask _you_: what are you so afraid of? Hmm? Why does me touching her like this," he swept his fingers down the white expanse of her forearm, "appear to enrage you so?" The fingers left her arm and, in a moment, were upon her cheek, cradling it. "Imagine how agitated you would be if you knew how much of this skin I've touched, how intimately acquainted I am with all its mystery."

"I will _kill_ you." The barely audible words slashed, sudden and terrible, through the silence. "_I swear it._"

At that moment, she knew she needed to move, needed to wake then and there. The low, vicious murmur still hung in the air, ominous in its threat. With tremendous effort, she opened her eyes. Slowly, slowly, a crack of light cut across the darkness. She fought the flash of pain and forced her eyes open wider. Bright light, a wall, forms began to take shape. Suddenly, she could see.

She was lying on a bed, Akito close beside, facing another man a few feet away, near the door. Yet another man stood at the foot of the bed.

"Akito..." she tried to call out, but no sound came forth. Her mouth felt full of sand. She swallowed, then pushed her voice out of a throat clenched tight with dryness. "_Akito..._"

They all heard her then. Akito spun around, an alarmed look in his eyes.

"Tohru?" Hastily he grasped her hand. "Can you hear me? I'm right here."

She looked up at him, her chapped lips curving into a smile. "...I know."

He smiled back, a small, fleeting smile that disappeared from his face in the next second, as he turned back to the other men, her hand still clasped in his.

"She is awake," he informed them flatly. "If you two would be so kind... I wish for her to have a few hours of peace."

The man at the foot of the bed studied her for a moment.

"How are you feeling, Tohru-san?" he asked quietly.

His voice was that of the person named Hatori. The grave dignity underlying that voice was also present in his face, in those serious, observant eyes. "I, ah..." she stammered, "I'm quite alright, I believe— thank you." She swallowed again and tried to clear her throat, the dryness in her mouth making it painful to speak.

"Ah, you're thirsty!" Akito exclaimed. He let go of her hand and reached for the pitcher sitting on the bedside table. She watched him smoothly fill the clear glass with water. He set the pitcher down.

"You'll need to sit up a little. Here," he said, bending down near her face, "let me fix your pillow." She raised her head slightly and he adjusted the pillow. "Now push yourself up a bit... That's it. Perfect." She sat back against the pillow and he handed her the glass of water.

She took a long, grateful sip, the three of them watching her intently. Gulping the water down, she lowered the glass from her lips and set it back on the table with hands that trembled slightly.

She looked at Akito. "Darling... is everything alright?"

For a moment, he simply stared at her in silence. Then, a slow smile spreading on his lips, he replied:

"Yes, of course. Everything is fine."

She tilted her head slightly to look at the man standing a few paces away from the door. Almost immediately Akito moved closer, blocking her view. Loudly he said:

"How remiss of me!" He reached for her hand, linking his fingers with hers. "Allow me to make the introductions. Tohru, meet my cousin Hatori." He gestured to the man standing at the foot of the bed. "Quite possibly the best, most dedicated physician of my acquaintance. He has the disposition of a _saint!_ I myself am living proof that it is impossible to exhaust his patience."

Hatori bowed his head briefly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She returned the bow. "The honor is mine. I gather you are my husband's physician?"

"Indeed he is," Akito answered. "And I am the most terribly noncompliant patient he has ever had. Am I not, Hatori-sensei?"

Hatori shifted his gaze to Akito. "I think it would be best if we left Tohru-san to her rest now. I'll go ahead and have some breakfast prepared." He glanced back at her. "Please excuse us."

She blinked. "Oh — of course."

He headed for the door, then paused, looking expectantly at the man still standing a few feet behind Akito.

"Shigure."

She leaned away from Akito at the sound of that name, and suddenly she could see him.

The man named Shigure did not turn, did not move, his eyes fixed solely on Akito. To her, they seemed the same eyes as Akito's: dark, piercing in their intensity. Then suddenly, he was looking directly at her.

He stood absolutely still, except that his lips parted slightly as if he meant to say something yet lacked the words. His face was haggard — under the paleness of his skin, a sickly gray color showed in the hollows of his cheeks, darkened under his eyes.

His face—

Suddenly she remembered that face.

"_You—_" she whispered.

Akito's hand tightened, gripping hers. He looked down at her, the smile on his face suddenly looking very brittle. "Did you say something, Tohru?"

She wasn't even aware that she had spoken aloud. "I remember seeing him," she murmured urgently. "He was at our house... that night."

Akito's features hardened, the smile slipping completely from his lips. "Yes. You see, Tohru, they were worried... anxious, you understand. Remember what I told you about my family? About our falling-out?"

"Yes, I do remember that."

"Well, they simply got so anxious about the whole state of things that they decided to pick us up and bring us back home. I admit, there might have been something admirable in that action, if only things hadn't been so hastily arranged and clumsily executed. But we couldn't have expected otherwise, I'm afraid. The incident that night, Tohru, is a prime example of how this family expresses its love"

His tone had grown low and cutting, and the way he had said _love_ made the word sound obscene. In the hand that gripped hers she could feel a tension, an anger straining. She closed her fingers over his, bringing his gaze back to her face.

"I understand," she said quietly.

He said nothing, merely glanced at their hands resting on the white blanket, fingers entwined.

"Shigure-san... isn't it?" she said evenly, directing her voice clearly at the man who stood silently a few feet away. The malevolence of his words earlier still burned in her memory, caused a startling, fierce protectiveness to flare up within her. "As our initial meeting that evening was somewhat... unceremonious, I'd like to take this chance to properly introduce myself. My name is Okishima Tohru, and I am Akito's wife."

Her words were met with silence. She kept her gaze leveled at his stony face.

Then, just as she made up her mind to completely dismiss him as an unpleasant, ill-mannered boor, she heard him say:

"_Tohru._"

That was all. A raw whisper. Her name.

She stared at him, shocked by the agony suddenly clearly visible on his face. Hatori moved then, grasping his arm in a firm grip.

"Shigure, let her rest."

With some force, Hatori made him turn away and head for the door. She watched, feeling somewhat shaken, as the door closed behind them. His eyes had never left hers, not even when Hatori had dragged him away. Who was he? Akito was also staring at the door, his eyes narrowed, the lines of his face harsh. She studied his profile for a second before squeezing his hand tightly.

He glanced down at her.

"Darling, how long must we stay here?" she asked quietly.

"You're not well yet, Tohru. We have to wait until you feel better."

"I feel fine. They just put me to sleep, didn't they, when they brought us over here? I'm just a bit tired and hungry, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"You don't know what you're saying," he snapped, snatching his hand away and walking over to the small table by the window, where a half-eaten muffin lay on a plate. He brought it over to her.

"Here. Eat this."

He was angry, his lips in a petulant curl, jaw clenched. She took the muffin without comment.

He set the empty plate down on the bedside table and sighed deeply.

She took a bite, chewed in silence for a few moments, then put the muffin back on the plate. Looking up, she said to him:

"Let's go home."

He let out a harsh breath. "We can't leave yet! Is that so difficult to understand?"

She recoiled from him a little, frowning, taken aback by the vehemence of his outburst. "Yes, because I'm telling you I feel perfectly fine! I see no reason why we have to stay in this place, when you so obviously hate being here!"

He muttered something to himself and turned away, walking towards the window. He stared out into the sunlight.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak in a calmer, quieter tone. 

"I remember what you told me... that you and your family had a falling-out. That that was the reason why you bought the house in Taketomi, that you wanted us to start over in our own place, far away from them."

He remained silent.

"Do you remember that, Akito?" When he still did not reply, she prodded, "Do you?"

He turned and regarded her intently. "What are you trying to say, Tohru?"

Her fingers curled into fists, gripping the blanket.

"I want to go back to that house with you. I don't like being here. I don't even know your family, but I hate seeing how they make you feel."

The words had scarcely left her mouth when she realized that she had just made a grave mistake. His eyes had suddenly narrowed, turned cold.

"And how exactly do they make me feel?" His voice was deceptively soft.

She stared at him helplessly.

"_How,_ Tohru!" he barked.

"... Trapped." She said the word quietly, because she knew he wouldn't like hearing it, but she said it nevertheless, wanting to be honest with him.

His eyes widened in outrage.

"I _beg_ your pardon? _Trapped?_ Is that what I heard you say?"

She no longer had any idea what to say in reply as he turned from the window and stalked the few steps back to her bedside. He looked down at her, something very much like contempt hardening his gaze.

"You should know," he hissed, "that I am the _head_ of this family. _I_ summon, and they come. _I_ command, and they obey."

"Then why," she asked him, "did you leave them?"

He looked at her in silence for a long moment.

"I left them for you," he answered at last, quietly, in a voice with no trace of rancor.

He looked so vulnerable, so forlorn in that moment that she reached out and touched his cheek.

"Then let's go home," she whispered.

His cheek tensed under her fingers. He stepped away then, out of her reach.

"You just don't understand, do you, Tohru?" he murmured sadly.

She watched him leave the room. In the sudden silence, she stared down at the palm of her hand, the lingering warmth from his cheek making her feel even more bereft.

* * *

My palm is lying face up on my lap; it seems to me there are more lines etched into it now than there had been when I had gazed at it on that long-ago morning of my arrival in the Main House. The lines remind me of scars, testimony to an ordeal of years. I feel as worn as the weathered skin on this palm. 

"He left me then, but he did return a short while later. And then he told me simply, 'Let's go shopping.'"

Akira arches a brow. "Shopping?"

I can't quite curb the smile that eases itself onto my lips, faintly warm with remembered affection. "Yes. He owed me a shopping trip, you see. It was one of the things we were supposed to have done the day the Sohmas took us from our house in Okinawa."

He is silent; I glance at him and see the stubborn set of his mouth, the frown creasing his brow. It is not easy for him to hear me speak of Akito in this way, to listen as I set the two of us apart from the Sohmas and speak of our life in Okinawa — of our days in that house by the sea. That house stands in his mind as a repository of all the years lost between us, all the anguish he has never been able to understand or resolve. Yet if this is to be a time for honesty, if he does wish to learn the truth about our life, then he must be told of these things.

"Akito never left my side after that. He always stayed with me, seeing to my needs, watching over me even when I slept."

"That's hardly remarkable, Mother. He had much to lose if he left you unattended for even a moment. Who knew what memories would come creeping back into your brain? He was afraid — that's all there was to it. You saw solicitous care where there was none intended." He pauses, the edge in his voice relenting. "But of course, one could hardly fault you for that. You were ill, extremely vulnerable. And that was something he took advantage of."

His words hurt me, and for a moment I almost give in to the familiar flash of defensive anger. But that is foolishness, I know — between my son and me, there is room enough and time enough for bitter anger and frigid silence. What matters now, what won't last long, is this moment — this moment while he sits at my side, willingly passing over the long-buried resentment and asking me to help him understand.

"That is certainly one way to see it, and in a sense, you are not wrong. Akito did seek to keep the truth from me — desperately. And there _was_ a time when I hated him for it, despised him for his deceit, for what he took from me. But let me tell you, Akira — that hatred came to haunt me in the end. That time of cold-hearted bitterness is the singularly most painful regret of my life."

He turns his head, looks at me. His eyes are his father's eyes — impassive, hard with contempt.

"Dare I hope I am one of your lesser regrets at least, Mother?"

The hurt wells up within me — his hurt, my hurt. I shake my head slowly, sadly.

"This is the curse, Akira. Do you feel it? This unyielding bitterness — it lives on in you, in me. It will destroy us both, as it has destroyed your father."

He becomes absolutely still, stares at me with startled eyes.

"Father?"

A mirthless smile twists my lips. "Yes, your father. In truth, the curse has long left this family — after Akito's death, all those afflicted were each eventually released from their bonds. It is only your father now, and your father alone, who remains in its grip."

His face tenses. I let my gaze pass over that face, studying his eyes.

"When you were small," I tell him softly, "I would look into your eyes and think of how clear they were, of how they have never known a world darkened by a curse. But I was wrong. The whole time the curse was right before your eyes. Every time you witnessed your father's fury, every time you stood and watched me leave, you were looking at the curse, living it. It has touched you too."

He says nothing. His fingers are rigidly clenched, his eyes troubled, wary. I reach out, cover his hand with mine.

"Do you see now, Akira? This silence between you and me, this anger... how old is it? How long has the hatred burned in our hearts? Do you understand now why there is no hope?"

A high-pitched ring jars the pause. He looks away, reaches into his pocket for a slim silver cell phone. After glancing at the screen, he curls the phone into his palm and rises from the porch.

"Please excuse me."

I watch him walk several feet up the garden path to the gate. The cell phone he has already flipped open and pressed to his ear; I can tell he is absorbed in the conversation, his head bent, face partially turned away from me. A few minutes later, he closes the phone, slips it back into his pocket, and returns to my side. By now the sun has mellowed, begun its descent into the western sky. We look out over the quiet garden.

"Are they calling you back?" I ask him.

He shakes his head.

"No, that wasn't the office." He hesitates, then says without meeting my eyes, "It was Father."

"Ah." I think for a moment about what I should say next, what words I should choose. Even after all these years, I never find it easy to turn my thoughts to him. "How is your father?"

"Still the same."

"He won't appreciate my regards, so I won't ask you to relay them to him." I am surprised, even now, at the freshness of the inevitable sting in my words whenever I speak about him. "Do you talk to him often?"

"We live under the same roof, Mother."

"I shared a bed with your father for years, Akira. We were quite adept at not speaking to each other."

He falls silent then, because with that, I have brought us back to the old quicksand, that tangle of unvoiced resentments and hidden pain. I hold back the apologies and the explanations, those ineffectual things I have put forth so often in the past. Instead, I say to him simply:

"Perhaps one of these days you should ask your father about the curse. See what he will say."

"Yes. Perhaps."

There is a chill in the wind. I look up, and watch the clouds make their way across the dimming sky.

"I guess it's time to see to dinner." I slip my feet back into my rough straw sandals. Before I can rise, however, he places an arm around me and helps me up.

"Do your knees still bother you?" he asks me quietly.

I am surprised he knows this, and touched that he has aided me so. "Sometimes. But it's hardly worth mentioning — after all, I _am _an old woman." I dust off the skirt of my robe, say briskly, "Well, I'm off to the kitchen."

I am halfway down the garden path, heading to the back of the house where the kitchen is, when I hear him call out:

"Would you like me to help you?"

I pause then, close my eyes. The joy in my heart brims over into a smile as I glance back over my shoulder at him.

"That would be lovely."

He gathers up his blazer and his briefcase. I wait for him, struck by the strangeness of time, by how it reverses things and returns us to situations, places switched. Now, I am the one who waits; I am the one who wonders how long he will stay.

**.:to be continued:.**


End file.
